


Whatever it Takes

by sparksaam



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Natasha Romanov, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Tony Stark, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Blood and Violence, Broken Bones, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Fainting, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitals, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, Hypothermia, Irondad, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Kidnapped Tony Stark, Kidnapping, Medical Doctor Bruce Banner, Medical Inaccuracies, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Near Death Experiences, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Platonic Cuddling, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Avengers, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Pepper Potts, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Psychological Torture, Revenge, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Torture, Worried May Parker (Spider-Man)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparksaam/pseuds/sparksaam
Summary: Peter froze suddenly, his heart practically leaping into his throat. His eyes had made contact with the man in the front seat, only to realize that the person gazing back at him was not Tony. Instead, a tall, gruff-looking man with a hoodie and a red bandana over his mouth occupied the place where Mr. Stark had been sitting just minutes before.“Don’t move,” the man grunted forcefully “or we’ll blow Stark’s brains out.”ORTony Stark is abducted. Peter Parker just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 130
Kudos: 702
Collections: The Best Irondad/Spiderson Fics, The Best Peter Parker Whump Fics, The Best of the Best MCU Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS i've never written anything other than one shots before so i am VERY excited to be attempting a multi-chapter fic!! this idea has been bouncing around my head for over a year, so i am very excited to share it!
> 
> just warning you, this one does get pretty intense and contains some fairly-graphic torture scenes so if that bothers you, please don't read. however, if torture is your jam, enjoy this one lol.
> 
> UPDATE: A commenter named Rozamund is the COOLEST and they translated this story into RUSSIAN!!!! link is here: https://ficbook.net/readfic/9666401.
> 
> clemtfet on tumblr is the BEST and translated this story into FRENCH too!!!! link: https://my.w.tt/jcZr1kZdlcb

“Okay kid, run me through the list.”

Peter scrunched up his nose in concentration. 

“Um, rock salt, windshield wiper fluid…” He paused for a second, clearly thinking. 

“Hot chocolate.” Tony finished Peter’s thought for him. “Don’t forget the hot chocolate.”

The kid palmed his forehead in exasperation. “Oh, right! How could I forget the hot chocolate?”

Tony grinned at Peter and he handed him a credit card. 

“I’ll circle the block while you run in. I’m not paying to park for five minutes.”

“Aren’t you, like, a billionaire?” Peter asked incredulously, smirking at his mentor.

Tony rolled his eyes. “A billionaire and a cheapskate. Now go. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Peter exited the passenger seat of the car and slammed the door behind him, heading toward the store entrance while Tony pulled the Audi away from the curb and back onto the city street. Peter repeated the grocery list over and over in his head like a mantra. _Rock salt, windshield wiper fluid, hot chocolate. Rock salt, windshield wiper fluid, hot chocolate._

Entering the small grocery store, Peter was surprised to find it was so crowded. Apparently, when everyone heard the news of the incoming snowstorm that was gonna hit the state this weekend, the entire population of New York City had decided to stock up on food at Midtown Market, Peter and Tony included. Mr. Stark had invited Peter and May to spend the weekend at the tower, planning on a relaxing, snowed-in weekend in the city, with lots of snacks, movies, and puzzles. 

Dodging his way through droves of customers, Peter navigated the store with ease, picking up a bottle of wiper fluid and a bag of rock salt before heading toward the drink isle. He grabbed the biggest box of hot chocolate powder he could find, throwing a bag of marshmallows in his basket for good measure before maneuvering over to the self-checkout lane. 

As he waited in line to check out, Peter watched the other customers bustling around him. To his right, a woman was balancing what looked like twenty cans of soup in her arms. Next to her, a man was depositing a copious amount of toilet paper into his cart. Peter watched them curiously, wondering if these people were overreacting or if he was underreacting. It was just a snowstorm, not the apocalypse. The man on the news had said there was going to be record snowfall—the biggest storm in the city’s history in almost ten years. But it was only supposed to snow for the next few days. Peter was looking forward to being cooped up in Avenger’s tower with Tony and May, snuggling up in fuzzy blankets and binging old movies. He turned his attention back to the checkout line. If New Yorkers were known for one thing, it was being overdramatic.

When he finally got to the front of the line, Peter scanned his items quickly and inserted Tony’s credit card into the self-checkout machine. He carefully bagged his purchases before heading toward the door. As promised, Tony’s Audi was parked outside the grocers with its blinkers on. 

Peter opened the door to the passenger’s side with a huff, plopping the grocery bags onto the car floor gratefully. Even with super strength, the rock salt bag was heavy in his arms, and he was glad to be relieved of the burden. Sliding into the front seat, Peter closed the car door behind him and slipped on his seatbelt. He turned to Mr. Stark in the front seat to hand back the billionaire’s credit card.

“Man, it was crowded in--”.

Peter froze suddenly, his heart practically leaping into his throat. His eyes had made contact with the man in the front seat, only to realize that the person gazing back at him was _not Tony_. Instead, a tall, gruff-looking man with a hoodie and a red bandana over his mouth occupied the place where Mr. Stark had been sitting just minutes before.

“Don’t move,” the man grunted forcefully “or we’ll blow Stark’s brains out.”

Peter glanced at the back seat, his eyes wide in terror. There sat another man, shorter, and dressed like the driver, with a navy blue bandana and an oversized hoodie. He had a gun in his hand—a gun that happened to be pointed at Tony’s head. To Peter’s horror, his mentor was slumped unconsciously across the back seat of the Audi, his head in the lap of the second man, whose shaking hand rested the barrel of the gun against Tony’s temple. The billionaire was clearly drugged, and his eyes were rolled lazily back in his head. Peter felt sick.

As he processed his situation, a series of thoughts flashed through Peter’s mind. _Who were these guys and what did they want with him and Mr. Stark?_ Peter had been in a lot of sticky situations but being kidnapped was a first. Peter considered his options. _He could run, but he didn’t want to risk the man in the back seat shooting Tony. He could try and fight, but it was two against one. Even with his abilities, he wasn’t faster than a bullet. He could scream for help, but he didn’t want to think about how the kidnappers would respond to a sudden outburst like that. The loaded gun in the backseat really complicated things._ Actually, Peter had no way of knowing if the gun was loaded, but it wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

Before the kid could come up with a course of action, the man in the driver’s seat repeated himself.

“Don’t move.” Suddenly, he leaned over Peter in the passenger seat, latching the boy’s right wrist to the door handle with a pair of industrial-grade handcuffs. Peter tugged lightly at the cuffs when the man returned to his seat, testing their strength. He was sure he could get out of them, but not without doing some damage to his wrist. Not that he was planning on moving anytime soon—at least not until the gun was far away from his mentor’s temple. 

Without another word, the driver turned around to look out the back windshield, putting his hand on the back of Peter’s seat as he reversed Tony’s Audi out of its spot by the curb. Peter shuddered when the man’s hand grazed his hair as he grabbed the seat behind him. He didn’t dare move. 

When the driver shifted back into drive and started off down the road, Peter glanced out the window desperately, making nervous eye contact with a young woman on the street outside the grocery store. He tried to telepathically send an S.O.S. message, but the closest he got was a desperate look of fear. The woman gave Peter a weird look and continued walking past the car. 

“Keep your eyes down. Don’t make any eye contact.”

The boy reluctantly obeyed the man’s orders and trained his eyes downward. He folded his hands in his lap, unsure of what to do with them. They were shaking violently in the handcuffs. _Shit._

For once in his life, Peter had no idea what he was supposed to do. The sudden silence in the car was eerie, as the imposter in the driver’s seat headed West, out of the city. The familiar sounds of the city—honking, foot traffic, construction noises—bled into the car as they drove, and Peter’s stomach ached in longing. He wanted to get out of this car. He wanted Tony-- the conscious, joking Tony he knew so well. The limp body in the backseat felt as much of an imposter as the two men who’d abducted them. He wanted May; her comforting bear hugs were enough to scare away even the worst of problems. Peter heard the turn signal and felt the man in the driver’s seat turn onto the highway. 

As his thoughts drifted to his Aunt, a sudden realization hit Peter. His cell phone was still in his back pocket. If he could somehow text May, maybe she could help. He cautiously glanced at the driver, who had his eyes glued to the road in front of him, oblivious to Peter. Slowly, he reached into his pocket, slipping his phone into his handcuffed hand, keeping it low next to his thigh and out of the driver’s eyeline. He quickly typed in his passcode and opened his texts. Peter began to type out a message to his aunt, frantic while still trying to remain incognito. He kept his eyes fixed on his lap, typing out the letters one-handed without looking at the screen, a Gen Z skill he had perfected from years of texting Ned under his desk during class.

_KIDNA-_

“Hey! He’s got his phone!” Peter jumped at the voice of the man from the back seat, frantically scrambling to shove his phone back in his pocket. _He hadn’t finished the text. He hadn’t pressed send._ The man in the front seat swerved the car suddenly as he lunged at Peter, intercepting the kid’s phone before the boy could hide it. 

“Pull a stunt like that again and you’re both dead, kid.” The driver barked, realigning the Audi back into its lane before he could swerve off the road. Peter watched distraughtly as the man unrolled the window and tossed his cell phone out onto the highway. 

“Get rid of Stark’s phone while we’re at it.” He motioned at the man in the back seat, who quickly fished Tony’s phone out of his front pocket and threw it out the window as well, followed by the smart watch around his wrist.

Peter felt nauseous. _He’d blown it. So much for May tracking his phone. Or the Avengers tracking Tony’s. They were completely on their own._

The driver turned to Peter again, noticing the kid was staring out the window. His voice was gruff and almost threatening.

“I _said_ , eyes down.”

Peter quickly looked down.

The car fell into silence again after that. Peter was too nervous to so much more than sit silently, eyes transfixed on his lap. The Winter afternoon sun coming through the windshield kept glinting off the gun in the backseat and reflecting little specks of light back onto the car’s dash—a constant reminder of what might happen if Peter didn’t comply. He swallowed loudly. 

The driver of the car, obviously bored of silence, reached over and turned on the radio. The classic rock station that Peter and Tony had been listening to earlier flooded through the speakers. The song that was playing was one of Tony’s favorites, and Peter suddenly felt like crying. Before the kid could reflect on the moment any longer, the man turned the dial quickly, navigating to the classical station. The mood changed suddenly as Black Sabbath was replaced by a soft Debussy piano tune. The kidnapper in the front seat began to hum along to the song softly.

The kid inferred two things from this development. First, if Peter hadn’t realized the driver was a _psychopath_ from the fact that he’d kidnapped them, his willingness to listen to classical music for _fun_ proved that the man was out of his mind. Second, the kidnapper had flipped to the radio station with ease-- no station hopping. He knew the local radio stations well, so Peter guessed he was from the area. If he was right, that meant they were going somewhere within roughly forty miles of the city, or as far as the NYC radio stations reached at least.

As it turns out, the kid was right. After roughly thirty minutes on the highway, the man began to slow and put on his turn signal. _An exit ramp._ Peter didn’t chance glancing up to catch the exit number, his thoughts still preoccupied with the gun trained on Tony in the backseat. He did feel the slightest twinge of relief though, knowing that he wasn’t that far from the city. From May. From the Avengers. They hadn’t even been driving an hour. 

As they began to slow down, Peter kept a mental note of the turns the man made. _Left. Left. Right._ The more information he could gather about where they were, the better their chances were of getting help. _Left. Right._

When the driver began to hum along to the radio again, distracted, Peter tried his luck. His eyes flitted up toward the window, desperately searching for something, _anything_ , that could give him a clue of where he was. Out the window, the landscape was tree-filled and bland. His gaze landed on a small fire station with a big, lighted flagpole. A few firemen were outside, watering plants. It took everything in Peter not to jump out the car and scream for help, but he knew he had to stay in the car to protect Mr. Stark. In seconds, they had passed the station and Peter quickly returned his gaze to his lap, stomach churning anxiously.

_May was probably looking for him right now. She was probably waiting at the tower, pacing back and forth as she tried calling his cell phone for the tenth time. She was probably calling Tony too, becoming frantic when he didn’t pick up. They were supposed to be doing jigsaw puzzles and making microwave popcorn right now as they watched the weather reports. Instead, Peter was handcuffed in the passenger seat of Tony’s Audi, his mentor unconscious in the back with a gun to his head, being taken further and further from home. From May._

Suddenly, Peter was aware that he was crying. Tears were silently flowing down his face and he couldn’t stop them. He felt his face crumple and he gave into the tears, being careful to sob as quietly as possible to avoid the wrath of his kidnappers. When he let out a rather loud sniffle, the man driving looked over at him but didn’t say anything, just turned back to the road. Peter rubbed at his eyes with his uncuffed hand. 

Minutes later, the car turned onto a new road. Peter was surprised by the gravelly sound the tires made as they drove, so different from the quiet of the paved road just moments before. _A backroad? Maybe a gravel driveway?_

Peter felt his heart skip a beat as the car began to slow, eventually coming to a full stop. He finally looked up, carefully watching the man in the driver’s seat cut the engine and exit the car before slipping the keys into his pocket. 

They had stopped in front of a large farmhouse. The building looked run- down and very old, like something out of a rural horror movie. Next to the house was a tall silo and a black pickup truck. To the left of the property was a small dense forest, and to the right, fields stretched out as far as Peter could see.

The kidnapper made his way to the back seat, opening the side door for his accomplice, who holstered the gun (much to Peter’s relief) and slid out of the car.

“Get him inside.” The driver motioned toward Tony, who lay limply across the back seat. Peter noticed that Mr. Stark’s hands were handcuffed behind his back. The second man grabbed Tony under his shoulders and dragged him roughly out of the car. The way his mentor’s head rolled lifelessly against his chest made the boy feel sick. He looked… well… Peter didn’t want to think about it.

Once the shorter kidnapper had Tony out of the vehicle, he tried to scoop the man up in his arms to carry him inside. He let out a strained grunt as he attempted to lift Tony’s body, but the man was dead weight.

“A little help here?” The kidnapper asked, still struggling to lift the billionaire.

The driver watched his buddy struggle, obviously annoyed. He nodded toward Peter, who was watching helplessly from the passenger seat. The boy began to shiver a little, both at the cold and the angry stare both men were giving him.

“I can’t just leave the kid here. He might run off.”

The struggling man dropped Tony’s unconscious form down onto the gravel, eliciting an audible wince from Peter. The back-seat man turned to the driver in defeat.

“Please?”

The driver grunted an exasperated “Fine.” before turning to Peter. 

“You stay here. If you run off, it’s not gonna be pretty.”

The kid nodded earnestly in response.

The two men hoisted Tony up haphazardly and headed inside the house, leaving Peter alone.

The second the men were out of sight, Peter exhaled forcefully. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath. He tugged at the handcuffs vigorously, but they didn’t budge. 

Peter wasn’t sure how long he had to escape, but he knew he didn’t have much time. Once the men had deposited Tony’s body wherever they planned on keeping him, Peter knew they’d be back for him. He had to get out of the car, _now._

Wincing in anticipation at what he was about to do, Peter shut his eyes tight and pulled at the cuffs as hard as he could. The snap of his wrist made the kid feel physically nauseous, but he didn’t have time to reflect on the pain. When he opened his eyes, he was relieved to see that the chain of the handcuffs was broken. _Go go go._

Peter scrambled out of the car as fast as he could, not bothering to close the car door behind him, his high-tops crunching loudly on the asphalt. All he could think about was getting out of here. His heart was pounding so hard that he could feel it in his head as he sprinted off toward the woods, half of the handcuffs still dangling from his throbbing wrist. It was beginning to snow, and cold flakes began to pepper his face as he ran. Behind him he could hear the screen door of the farmhouse slam, accompanied by frantic shouting.

“Hey!”

Peter didn’t look back, putting every ounce of strength he had into fleeing his captors. He just had to reach the trees. Once he made it to the woods, he’d be harder to spot. He could climb a tree and hide out until nightfall. But he never made it to the trees.

Peter didn’t process the sound of the gunshot until he was already on the ground, gasping for air. _Had he been shot?_ He heard crunching footsteps approaching quickly and he tried to scramble away from the sound, only to find that he could barely move. A sudden sharp pain blossomed in his left thigh and Peter cried out suddenly as the stinging radiated down his leg. His eyes fluttered down to the source of the pain, and he gagged when he saw the wound. There was a gaping hole in his jeans, a few inches up and to the left of his knee. Blood gushed generously from the injury and seeped into the denim, staining the fabric a deep shade of crimson. A few snowflakes fell softly onto his jeans, mingling with the blood. Shit. Peter gagged again, this time bringing up his lunch with it.

In seconds, the kidnappers were upon Peter like vultures to prey. The driver grabbed Peter suddenly, pulling him up by his hair. Peter grunted in response, too dizzy to fight back.

“I told you it wouldn’t be pretty.”

Peter blinked up at the man, the edges of his vision already starting to fade. He used the last of his strength to look the driver dead in the eyes and grunt angrily.

“Fuck you.”

As soon as the words had left his lips, Peter lost consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's chapter two!! hope you enjoy!
> 
> -sam

May hated to worry. She tried to find a middle ground between giving Peter the space he needed while also keeping an eye out for his safety, but sometimes the lines got blurred. When your kid was Spider-Man, it was hard _not_ to worry about him. That’s why, when she arrived at Avengers tower to find that Peter and Tony still hadn’t returned from their shopping trip, she tried to shrug it off. The duo was a bit unpredictable, and she wouldn’t be surprised if they’d stopped for French fries on the way home, or if they’d decided to take a loop around the city to people watch. May plopped herself down on the tower’s living room couch and tried to make herself comfortable, turning on the tv.

She tried to keep her mind off her nephew’s whereabouts, she _really_ did, but as the weatherman on tv droned on and on about the incoming storm, May’s stomach began to churn. The clouds outside the tower windows were getting darker and heavier, and the first soft flakes of snow had begun to fall over the city. Peter and Tony should have been back an hour ago.

May was restless and decided to get up from the couch and distract herself. She walked over to the coffee maker and began to brew herself a cup just as Pepper walked out of the elevator, her arms full of grocery bags.

“Hi, May!” Pepper greeted her with a breathless grin as she set down the heavy bags on the kitchen counter and began to unzip her coat. “Where are the boys? I thought you guys were gonna watch a movie.”

May offered up a small smile, tapping the counter nervously with her fingernails.

“They’re not here yet.”

“Huh.” Pepper looked down at her watch. “Weren’t they supposed to be back an hour ago?”

May hummed in response, looking out the windows of the tower. The snow had picked up a bit.

“Yeah, they were.”

“I hope they’re not far. I don’t want them to get caught in the snowstorm.” Pepper followed May’s anxious gaze out the window, then to the weather radar on the tv. “Have you tried calling Peter? Or Tony?”

“Yeah, I called them both. A couple times, actually. No answer.”

Pepper furrowed her brow. “That’s weird. Tony always answers his phone.”

The woman’s worried tone did nothing to ease the uneasiness growing in May’s stomach. Something was wrong. She could feel it.

Pepper sensed May’s anxiety and called to the tower’s AI.

“FRIDAY, track Tony and Peter.”

“According to their cell phone locations, Mr. Stark and Mr. Parker appear to be on the I-78 expressway, just over the New Jersey border.”

“New Jersey?” It was Pepper’s turn to be concerned. “What are they doing in New Jersey? Which direction are they heading?”

FRIDAY was quick to respond.

“They don’t appear to be moving. Their location hasn’t changed in over thirty minutes.”

May felt her heart rate skyrocket at the AI’s words. _Were they stranded on the side of the road? Was it a car accident?_ She gripped the counter tightly, trying not to think about her nephew’s potential condition. If he wasn’t answering his phone, he could only be in trouble.

Pepper slid her coat back on quickly, grabbing her car keys and beckoning for May to follow as she sprinted toward the elevator. May could tell by the look on Pepper’s face that she was picturing the same horrible images of bloody car wrecks and icy roads as she was.

“Come on.”

The two women crammed into the elevator hastily; May pushed the button for the tower garage rapidly until the doors closed.

As the elevator started its slow decent, Pepper looked over at May. The woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, and she was desperately blinking back tears. Pepper put her hand on the other woman’s shoulder consolingly before addressing her.

“Hey, look at me.”

May wiped her eyes in embarrassment before turning to Pepper.

“Sorry, it’s just—”

Pepper cut her off suddenly.

“No apologies. We’re gonna go get our boys. They’re going to be okay.”

May could see that despite the fear in Pepper’s eyes, her words were genuine. She nodded before turning her attention to the elevator doors, which opened to reveal the tower garage. She stood up straighter as she exited the elevator.

“Okay. You’re right.”

Ten minutes later, the two women were headed West and out of the city. The snow that fell heavily cast a gloomy glow over the city, and, much to everyone’s annoyance, caused heavy traffic jams. Pepper and May found themselves stuck in snowy rush-hour traffic, the car practically at a standstill amongst other angry commuters.

“I’m gonna try calling them again.” May announced quietly from the passenger’s seat, desperate to do something to help the situation. But when Peter’s phone went straight to voicemail, she found herself feeling sick all over again. She tried Tony’s cell again. No answer. She let out a shaky sigh.

Pepper spoke up. “Have they moved at all, FRIDAY?”

“Mr. Stark and Mr. Parker’s locations have not changed since you last checked.”

Pepper hummed in annoyance and turned to May.

“We’re almost there.” Her voice was gentle, but the words did nothing to help May’s spirit. She wasn’t sure she was ready for whatever they’d find when they arrived.

However, to May’s surprise, when they arrived at the coordinates FRIDAY had provided, there were no ambulances, no fiery wrecks, no mangled bodies. There was also no Peter and Tony.

Pepper put on her turn signal and pulled off to the side of the road, putting on her hazard lights before turning off the car engine.

“Is this it?” She asked the AI skeptically.

Much to the confusion of both women, FRIDAY confirmed the location.

May was the first to step out of the car, shivering in the cold. As the heavy snowflakes dusted her hair, she suddenly wished she’d brought a warmer jacket. She began to scan the road, desperately looking for any trace of her kid. Pepper joined her, and the two began to walk up and down the shoulder of the highway.

After a few minutes of searching, Pepper spoke up, clearly losing her patience.

“This can’t be right. They’re not he—”

May grabbed her arm suddenly, stopping Pepper mid-sentence. She pointed at something lying on the side of the road before taking off toward it. Pepper followed suit, confused at what May was pointing at.

When Pepper caught up to the other woman, breathing heavily, she finally realized what May had seen. The woman now held a cell phone in her hand, cracked almost beyond recognition. Turning the device over in her hands, May gasped when she recognized the _Star Wars_ stickers covering the back of the phone. _Peter’s._

“Pepper…” May looked like she was going to be sick, and Pepper wrapped her arms around the woman in solace. May began to weep in the other woman’s hold, and Pepper swallowed the painful lump in her throat.

“It’s gonna be okay. We’ll find them. They’re strong. We’ll find them.”

Pepper’s reassurances did little to help the woman breaking down in her arms. May knew that the words carried no weight. Peter and Tony were likely in danger, and neither Pepper nor May had any idea where they were.

The two stood there for a while, wrapped in an embrace on the shoulder of the highway while the beginning of a blizzard fell heavily around them. Pepper had no idea what to do. When she finally let go of May, whose tears were still falling steadily, she pulled out her cell phone from her coat pocket and dialed Rhodey.

* * *

Peter woke up with a start, gasping suddenly as pain radiated up his entire left side. It took him a second to pull himself together as the events of the last few hours returned to him, a bit cloudy still amidst a biting headache. He groaned softly, pulling his hands instinctively to the throbbing gunshot wound in his leg, only to find that he couldn’t move his arms. Or his legs, for that matter. He was cuffed again, this time to a metal folding chair. To make matters worse, a heavy rope was wound tightly around his midsection, further restricting his movement. The room was dark, but a single lightbulb hung above Peter, illuminating him with a severe glow.

Peter’s eyes trailed down to his left thigh, where a bloody mess of gauze had been sloppily packed into his wound. The bleeding had slowed significantly, but the wound was still leaking slowly, and the pain was excruciating. Peter had to close his eyes suddenly, gritting his teeth as he rode out a particularly gruesome wave of pain.

Squinting in the harsh light, the kid began to observe his surroundings, his vision adjusting to the darker corners of the room around him. He appeared to be in some sort of large room with no windows—a basement probably. The floors and walls were bare concrete, and the ceiling was lined with pipes and wooden beams. To his left was a closed door in the wall, likely leading to another room, and directly in front of him was a wooden staircase leading up to another door. _Definitely a basement._ When Peter turned to his right, his eyes widened suddenly.

There, handcuffed and bound in a chair identical to Peter’s, was a very roughed-up Tony Stark. The man was still unconscious, chin rested limply on his chest, and he slumped uncomfortably against the ropes that were holding him in place. A sticky cut above Tony’s eyebrow left much of his face crusted with dry blood, and the skin around his jaw was dark and puffy. Peter watched the man anxiously, letting out an audible sigh of relief when he observed the slow rise and fall of his mentor’s chest.

 _Tony was_ _alive_.

“Mr. Stark?” The words were barely above a whisper, and Peter was surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. He cleared his throat and tried again, this time calling the man’s name with more force. Tony didn’t react, his eyes still closed.

“Come on, Mr. Stark. _Please_. Wake up.”

Peter watched Tony, desperately searching the man’s face for any sort of reaction.

“Tony!”

The billionaire must have latched onto Peter’s voice this time because he instantly began to stir in his chair, face squinting up a bit in discomfort when he realized he couldn’t move. Peter’s heart began to race at the first sign of life in the man. _Come on, Mr. Stark._

“Open your eyes, Mr. Stark. It’s me, Peter.”

“Shut ‘p, kid. You’re too loud. I got a headache.” Tony mumbled, licking his dry lips before prying open an eyelid. He finally focused his wavering vision on Peter, who was… _tied up in a chair?_ Tony jolted up suddenly, his metal chair making a horrific scraping sound on the concrete floor at the movement. _He couldn’t move. Where was he? Why did Peter look so pale?_ His breathing began to pick up suddenly as he took in the dark room around him.

“Peter, where are we?”

“Glad you asked.”

The two quickly whipped their heads to the source of the voice. At the top of the stairs, a gruff-looking man was standing smugly. _The driver._

The man began a slow, embarrassingly dramatic decent down the stairs, his eyes never leaving his victims.

Tony glanced over at Peter, whose wide eyes seemed paralyzed in fear. The kid was a newbie when it came to getting kidnapped. Tony, on the other hand, was a bit more experienced. Despite waking up moments earlier in a criminal’s basement, he knew he needed to be brave for Peter. Or at least _act brave_. He looked the kidnapper dead in the eyes and grinned.

“You comin’, Drama Queen? I don’t have all day. I’ve got a meeting at eight that I really can’t be late for.”

The man just smirked at Tony’s quip, planting himself in front of Peter and Tony when he finally reached the bottom of the stairs. Even with a bandana over his mouth, the kidnapper’s smug expression could be seen in his eyes. He was tall, towering over Peter and Tony, who were now seated helplessly in front of him.

“Oh Stark, your ill-timed sense of humor never fails to amaze me.” The man grabbed a metal pipe off the ground and began to swing it absentmindedly, beginning to pace, yet never breaking eye contact with the billionaire.

Peter watched the interaction nervously, eyeing the heavy pipe in the driver’s hands. He was having a hard time reading the situation. _Was the man going to hurt Tony? Or him?_ His Spidey-sense was going haywire, and it made it hard for Peter to concentrate. Tony didn’t seem to be too worried, which helped Peter’s spirits, but he still had no idea how much danger they were in.

“Who are you?” Tony asked, his voice still calm. “What do you want from me? Money? A job? Stark Industries isn’t hiring right now, but—”

“Call me Bloodbath.” The man’s voice was gravelly.

Tony didn’t even have to fake the barking laugh that came out of him. His eyebrows shot up as he snorted.

“Are you serious? _Bloodbath?_ What, are you a Batman villain? Nah, you look like your name’s Dave. I’m gonna call you Dave. And _you,_ ” Tony nodded to the second man, who had appeared at the top of the stairs. “I’ll call you Jimmy.”

Peter jumped suddenly as “Dave” whipped Tony across the face, eliciting a loud _smack_ as his hand made contact with Tony’s cheek.

“Cut the bullshit, Stark. This isn’t a game. If it weren’t for your antics, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Me? This is my fault? All I was doing was enjoying an afternoon out with my intern, who you _really_ didn’t need to rope into this by the way, when _you guys_ decided to ruin our day.”

“And we were just kids, enjoying an evening with our father when you blew up our apartment building, _Stark.”_ Dave’s tone stung like a knife. “How’s holding your dad’s dead body in your arms for ruining your day?”

 _Oh._ Tony looked down at his lap, stunned. It had been years since he’d shut down weapons manufacturing at Stark Industries. Years since the Avengers had fought a battle that endangered civilians. But Tony’s past still came back to haunt him, every _damn_ time. He was kept up at night thinking about all the innocent lives taken because of his company. Because of the Avengers. Because of _him._

Peter broke the silence before Tony had a chance to respond. His voice wavered, but he looked Dave dead in the eyes as he spoke. “I’m sorry about your dad. I really am, and Mr. Stark is too. But he’s not like that anymore. He’s changed.”

Dave turned, focusing all his attention on Peter. Tony could see the gleam of anger in the man’s eyes as he knelt down in front of Peter until his face was just inches from the boy’s. Dave’s words were sickly sweet, his hot breath on Peter’s face making the boy want to vomit.

“Intern, huh? We were wondering who you were. Should’ve just stayed home this morning, kid. Would’ve made your life a whole lot easier.”

Tony felt his stomach turn at the man’s words. _They didn’t even plan on taking the kid; Peter had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now the kid was wrapped up in some kind of psycho revenge kidnapping, and it was all his fault._

“Don’t touch him.” Tony snarled. He could tell Peter was trying to put on a brave face, but he didn’t miss the way the kid’s breathing picked up.

Intrigued by the surge of protectiveness in Tony’s voice, Dave’s face lit up with a devious grin, making Peter’s skin crawl.

“Are you _really_ just his intern? Ole’ Stark over here seems to be really protective of you.” Dave paused. “What’s your name, anyway?”

Peter glanced over at his mentor, whose eyes were wide in fear, then down to the metal pipe still swinging mindlessly in Dave’s hand. The boy suddenly felt dizzy, whether from the fear or the blood loss he wasn’t sure. He swallowed the saliva that was cumulating in his throat before answering.

“Peter.”

“Well, _Peter,_ ” Dave snarled, “I’ve got to take care of business upstairs, but as soon as I get back the fun begins.” The man turned on his heels and started ascending the stairs. The second man, who Tony had dubbed “Jimmy” turned from his spot at the top of the staircase and disappeared through the door. Tony presumed he was Dave’s brother.

Peter bit his cheek as he watched the men walk away. _He didn’t want to know what Dave had meant by “fun”._

When he’d reached the top of the stairs, Dave turned to his captives.

“No talking. I’ll be back.”

As soon as the door slammed behind him and Peter and Tony were alone, the billionaire turned to the kid, apologizing profusely.

“Peter, I’m so sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen, we—” He stopped mid sentence, his stomach churning in guilt, before sighing in defeat. “I’m sorry.”

The boy was quick to shut down Tony’s apologies. “It’s okay, Mr. Stark. Really, it is. We’re gonna get out of here.”

Tony nodded. The kid was right. There was no time to talk; they needed to focus on escaping, and fast. He watched carefully as Peter tugged at his handcuffs, wincing sharply.

“What’s wrong? Can you get out of the cuffs?”

Peter shook his head. “I think I broke my wrist when I got out of them earlier. I can’t move it very much, and it— _shit­­—_ it hurts whenever I try to move it.” He shimmied slightly in his chair, trying to move under the heavy ropes keeping him in place. “The ropes don’t help either. Even with super strength, I need more leverage.”

Tony nodded solemnly. “You said you escaped earlier?”

Peter grunted in affirmation, still a bit woozy from his injuries.

“Yep. When they went to carry you inside, they left me in the car. I managed to break the cuffs, but they got me before I made it into the woods.” The kid nodded sheepishly toward the wound in his thigh. The gauze was now entirely soaked in blood, and the coppery smell mingled cruelly with Peter’s nausea, threatening to make him lose his lunch again.

Tony’s face twisted in shock and when he saw Peter’s leg. The odd angle of the chair and the harsh lighting made it difficult to see, but he knew from the grimace on Peter’s face that the wound was serious.

“Is that a…”

“Gunshot.” Peter finished Tony’s thought for him. “It’s actually not that bad I don’t think, but it’s still kinda bleeding.”

“I’m gonna kill them. I’m gonna _kill them.”_ The man whispered the threat, more to himself than to Peter, but the steely cold gaze in his mentor’s eyes was enough to give Peter chills.

“We need to stop the bleeding, Peter. I can’t have you passing out on me.”

The kid nodded in agreement. “But how? Neither of us can move.”

Above them, the floor creaked as the two men mingled around upstairs. The basement was cold and eerily silent. A steady _drip_ was echoing in the corner from what sounded like a broken pipe. Tony cleared his throat.

“Do you have your phone?”

Peter shook his head. “They tossed our phones out the car window. Your watch too.”

“Damn it.”

“Is there another way they can track us?” The hope in the kid’s voice did nothing to help Tony’s guilt.

“No. The only way to track us would be through our phones, my watch, or one of the suits,” The man looked over at Peter, clad in jeans and a worn hoodie before examining his own t-shirt in defeat, “which we obviously aren’t wearing.”

“But they’re looking for us, right? Someone has to be.”

Tony sighed, slumping against the ropes that held him in place. His hands ached in the cuffs, and he just wanted to reach out hug the kid, run his fingers through his curls and tell him everything was going to be okay.

“Yeah, kiddo. I’m sure May noticed when we didn’t come back to the tower.” Peter grimaced at the mention of his aunt, but Tony continued. “Rhodey will already be looking for us, and probably some of the other Avengers too, but it might be a while. I have absolutely no idea where we are.”

Peter cocked his head up suddenly. “We were only driving for about an hour. Headed West, I think. I saw a fire station, and a lot of trees.”

Tony grunted. “Jersey, probably. Or even Pennsylvania. Did you catch any town names? Street signs? Landmarks?”

Peter looked down at his leg, watching the blood slowly seep into his jeans. “No. They told me to keep my head down.” He looked sheepish. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault, kid.”

Before the conversation could continue, the door at the top of the stairs swung open suddenly. Jimmy was the first to appear, followed by Dave, who looked angry.

“I told you to be quiet.”

Tony just stared the man down defiantly. “Free country.”

Dave turned to Jimmy, who was holding what looked like a tackle box in his arms. “Separate them. Take the kid into the bedroom.”

“No!” The word tumbled out of Peter’s mouth before he could stop them, and Dave smiled smugly.

Tony shot the man a venomous look. “Don’t you dare.”

Jimmy ignored the billionaire, and in seconds he’d grabbed Peter’s chair and was dragging it across the floor toward the door in the left wall. Peter tried to fight him, flopping helplessly in the chair, but the bonds that held him to the seat were too strong. There was nothing he could do but sit there and let himself be pulled into the other room.

_No no no NO._

Peter screamed Tony’s name as he was pulled through the door frame. Tony called to Jimmy, his voice frantic.

“If you hurt him, I’ll make you wish you were never born!”

Jimmy didn’t answer, just pulled Peter inside the bedroom, and shut the door behind them. Peter choked on a sob as the wooden door separated him from his mentor. He heard Dave laugh on the other side of the wall, then a _smack_ and a pained groan from Tony.

“Stop it!” Peter screamed, “Please!”

Ignoring the kid’s pleas, Jimmy set the tackle box down on the bed, popping open the locks before turning to Peter, who sat writhing in the folding chair.

“Shut up. We’ve got work to do.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy chapter 3!!  
> -sam

“Shut up. We’ve got work to do.”

Peter watched anxiously as Jimmy fished his hand around in the tackle box, eventually pulling out some gauze, some pliers, and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, among other supplies. He laid the items out on the bed, humming quietly to himself. When the man noticed Peter tense up, he turned to the kid, squatting down next to him.

“Hey, relax. I’ll try and be gentle. We’ve got to take care of that wound though, before it gets infected.”

Peter looked up at the man, furrowing his brow at the way Jimmy’s tone sounded almost sympathetic.

Sensing the boy’s fear, Jimmy pulled the bandana down from his mouth. In the dim light of the unfinished bedroom, Peter was surprised to see that the man’s face wasn’t threatening, but gentle. Jimmy was shorter than his brother—less intimidating, and he had a scruffy beard that framed his face. His blue eyes were soft and kind, unlike Dave’s.

Confusion flickered across Peter’s face as he observed the man’s demeanor. It was almost as if Jimmy actually wanted to help him. He still didn’t trust the man-- he had kidnapped him after all-- but he felt a lot less threatened that he had previously.

Jimmy let the kid process for a second before speaking up again.

“Can I help you, Peter? Please?”

Peter glanced down at the blood blossoming across the denim of his jeans, then back up at his kidnapper, who watched him patiently.

Letting the man help him was risky. Peter knew from numerous encounters with criminals that trusting strangers never led to any good. The “good cop” behavior could be nothing more than an act to take advantage of Peter at his most vulnerable. However, as much as he wanted to forget about the throbbing bullet hole in his leg, he also knew that a bleeding wound needed to be stopped. If he didn’t staunch the blood soon, he could pass out, and then he was royally screwed. There was no way he could stop the bleeding on his own, tied up like this. He didn’t have many options.

Peter looked up at Jimmy, who was smiling sympathetically, before nodding reluctantly. His voice was small.

“Okay.”

Jimmy patted Peter’s good knee gently. Peter eyed him suspiciously.

“Good. I’ll get the supplies.”

The kid watched as Jimmy returned to the bed and grabbed the gauze and bottle of peroxide.

“This is probably gonna hurt. Do you want some Advil? Sorry I don't have anything stronger.”

Peter shook his head. Accepting drugs from one of your kidnappers was a big no-no. It wasn’t like mild painkillers would help him anyway with his enhanced metabolism.

“Tough kid.” Jimmy commented. “Now let’s see what we’re working with here.”

Peter flinched as the man knelt by his leg and began to carefully peel back the gauze that was stuck to his injury. The kid watched him like a hawk, on edge in case Jimmy decided to try anything. To Peter’s surprise, the man was gentle, like he promised.

When he had removed the gauze, Jimmy winced at the sight of Peter’s wound. A gruesome hole, roughly three-quarters of an inch wide, had been ripped into the kid’s flesh by the bullet. The skin around the injury was red and puffy, severely inflamed.

“Can I cut a hole in your jeans to get a better look?”

Peter agreed, and Jimmy carefully used a pair of scissors to slice the denim away from Peter’s wound. He left the piece of fabric hanging open like a flap before grabbing the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and unscrewing the cap.

“I hate to do this, but we’ve got to clean the wound. It’s gonna hurt.”

“Just do it.” Peter gritted through his teeth, avoiding eye contact with the man. He’d had enough trips to the Med Bay at the tower to know that hydrogen peroxide stung like mad.

Jimmy nodded and began to slowly pour the peroxide over Peter’s thigh. Peter shut his eyes and braced himself against the ropes that held him to the chair, whimpering and struggling against his restraints as the stinging liquid was poured over the wound. As he squirmed, the boy accidentally tugged his broken wrist too hard against the tight handcuffs and his vision swam as blinding hot pain jolted up his arm. Jimmy was done cleaning the wound, he dabbed gently at Peter’s leg with a washcloth.

“I’m so sorry.” The grimace that flashed across the man’s face looked genuine. Peter just gritted his teeth.

“Is the bullet still in there?”

“I think so.” The man answered apologetically. “I think I can fish it out, but I’ll have to search for it.”

The boy nodded, his stomach rolling at the thought of what was gonna happen next.

“Ready?” Jimmy’s eyes were trained carefully on Peter.

When Peter bobbed his head in confirmation, the man carefully sunk the pliers into the bullet hole, eliciting a pained wine from the kid, who began to involuntarily struggle in the chair. Jimmy just continued his work, as gently as possible, probing the wound in search of the bullet. Peter gasped when the pliers made contact with the piece of metal stuck in his skin.

“Hurts.” He moaned loudly, grinding his teeth against pain.

“I know, I know. I’m so sorry.” Jimmy looked up at the kid, a twinge of worry in his eyes. “I found the bullet; I’m just going to pull it out, okay?”

In one swift movement, the man tugged the pliers carefully out of the boy’s leg, producing a small, bloody bullet. Peter practically screamed at the action, collapsing against the ropes in exhaustion once the pliers were removed. His heavy breathing echoed against the concrete walls of the small room, and Jimmy quickly pressed a few fresh pieces of gauze to the injury to quell the bleeding before wrapping the gauze with tape.

“The worst is over, Peter. I got the bullet out.”

Peter just nodded, his eyes still scrunched closed in pain.

Jimmy continued. “You’re lucky. The bullet just missed your bone. It could have been a lot worse.”

“Yeah, great shot.” Peter snapped at the man sarcastically.

Jimmy stood up, wiping the blood off his hands with a towel.

“I didn’t want to shoot you, but my brother—” He paused. “I couldn’t let you escape.”

“You could have, actually.” The kid was bitter, despite the exhaustion.

Jimmy frowned. “We weren’t planning on taking you. It was supposed to just be Stark, but when you got in the car, we couldn’t just let you go.

Peter licked his dry lips, and Jimmy quickly uncapped a water bottle. He held it to the boy’s mouth, who, in his exhaustion, accepted the drink gratefully.

“My brother just wants revenge on Stark. I didn’t even want to be involved, but he got me roped into it.”

Peter glanced up at the man in disgust. “Either way, you’re still a kidnapper.”

Jimmy looked guilty, but he ignored the kid’s comment.

“He doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to hurt Stark, to get him back for what he did to our dad. If he does anything to you, it will just be to get a reaction out of Stark.”

As if on cue, a loud grunt from the other room echoed through the wall of the bedroom. _Mr. Stark. Dave was hurting him._

Peter was suddenly alert, his breathing picking up. He turned to Jimmy, his eyes wide.

“Get him to stop! He’s hurting Tony!”

Jimmy offered Peter a look of genuine remorse, wincing as another grunt followed by maniacal laughing came from the other room.

“I’m sorry, Peter. I can’t do that.” The man turned, and before Peter could respond, he had slipped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Left alone in the dimly lit bedroom, Peter couldn’t suppress the hot tears that began to run down his face. Over in the room next door, he could hear the sounds his mentor getting battered. All Peter could do was struggle fruitlessly against his restraints and pray that Dave didn’t kill Mr. Stark.

* * *

Rhodey rubbed his eyes for the umpteenth time that night, trying the dispel the aching in his retinas. The harsh blue light of the computer screen bathed the dark room in a soft glow, burning his tired eyes.

On the screen, the man watched dozens of cars and trucks pass by, slowing down the frames and searching each passenger’s face for any sign of Peter or Tony. The highway traffic cam footage was proving to be of little use, but Rhodey persisted.

May and Pepper had found Peter’s phone on I-78, a few miles West of the state border. The past few hours had been dedicated to scanning the footage of all West-moving traffic in a three-mile radius of where the phone was found. The Avengers had narrowed down the time of abduction to an hour-- sometime between 4:10 and 5:10pm—but even in such a short span of time, there were thousands and thousands of license plates to run, and even more faces to scan.

Ever since Pepper had called Rhodey from the highway, her frantic voice sending chills down the man’s spine, the Avengers had been working non-stop to try and locate the missing duo. May had been quick to put together a search party, using practically all the cars in the tower’s vast garage to patrol the highway and city streets looking for any clue as to where her nephew and his mentor might be. Happy and a few others took charge of searching the grocery store and city sidewalks where Tony and Peter were last seen, interrogating store employees and customers for any information that might help with the search. Rhodey had complied a task force of the remaining heroes to check store security footage, traffic cams, and social media. Hours ago, he’d sent the tired Avengers to bed, figuring they would be more helpful in the morning after a few hours of sleep than half-awake, slumped over a desk for hours. Which happened to be the exact position Rhodey found himself in right now, but that was irrelevant. Someone had to keep searching, and Tony was his best friend, damn it. If anything happened to him, Rhodey would never forgive himself.

The man’s thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a short cough behind him. Turning around, Rhodey was surprised to see Steve and Bucky standing in the doorway. The Winter Soldier had a wicked case of bedhead and was clad in, ironically, Captain America pajama pants. Steve, on the other hand, looked like he hadn’t slept a wink. The super soldier’s eyes were shadowed by dark circles, and he held two steaming mugs in his hands.

The pair walked up to Rhodey, and Steve placed one of the mugs—hot chamomile tea—in front of the exhausted man. Rhodey thanked him with a sad smile.

“Any luck?”

Rhodey shook his head with a sigh. “Nothing. There are still a few hours of highway footage I have to look through though. If I don’t find anything, I might expand the search radius.” He looked up at the two men watching the screen over his shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Steve nodded. “Doesn’t seem like anyone is getting much sleep tonight. Everyone is worried sick.”

Rhodey hummed quietly. “How’s May?”

“She’s still crying.” Steve answered honestly. “Happy is in the living room with her now. Pepper’s there too. Nat and Clint are in the gym, probably obliterating punching bags. You know how Natasha gets when she’s upset. Everyone else is in their rooms, but I’m not sure if anyone’s managed to get much rest.”

Sighing as he zoomed in on another license plate, Rhodey ran an aching hand through his hair. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost five in the morning.” Bucky yawned, his voice sleepy. “We’ve come to relieve you of your burden.”

Rhodey shook his head vigorously. “No. I can’t stop. Tony and Peter need me.”

Steve clapped a firm hand onto the man’s shoulder. “Rhodes. We’re serious. You need to rest up before we start searching again tomorrow. You’re no use to Tony or the kid if you’re half-asleep.”

Bucky chimed in. “Steve and I will keep searching the footage, okay? You try and get some z’s.”

Rhodey closed his eyes in defeat, leaning back against the office chair. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep much."

“Just try, okay?” Steve’s warm smile finally coaxed the man out of his chair, and Rhodey began to stagger down the hall toward his bedroom, exhausted.

“Wake me up if there’s any new developments.”

“Will do, Rhodes.”

Crawling into bed, the Colonel wrapped himself up tightly in his comforter, watching the heavy flakes of snow falling outside his window. The man was surprised to find that seconds after his head hit the pillow, he began to doze. He must have been more drained than he thought. In the haze of impending unconsciousness, Rhodey sent up a quick prayer, begging that his best friend and the kid were somewhere warm and safe, out of the icy grasp of the storm that raged outside.

“Rhodes?”

The man awakened with a start, practically leaping out of bed when he heard Steve’s voice. _How long had he been asleep?_ “Huh? What is it?”

The super soldier sounded sympathetic. “I’m sorry to wake you, but you’re gonna want to see this.”

Rhodey’s eyes widened, and he looked at the other hero inquisitively. His heart was racing. “Did you find them?”

Steve just beckoned for him to follow, already heading out of the room and toward the lab.

Rhodey followed the other hero, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he jogged to keep up with the larger man’s strides before arriving to the tower’s high-tech lab.

Practically all the Avengers, May and Happy included, were gathered around Bucky, who was motioning to the small computer monitor. Rhodey quickly pushed his way through the crowd of heroes to the front. When he saw what was on the screen, his heart leaped into his throat.

A grainy photograph of Peter was blown up across the computer monitor. The kid had his head down, but despite the poor photo quality and the restrictive angle, there was no denying the figure was Peter.

“We caught him on one of the highway traffic cams, just past the airport heading West. He was in Tony’s Audi.”

Rhodey sucked in a breath. _They had eyes on the kid._ One step closer to finding Peter and Tony. “Zoom in. Who’s driving?”

Bucky panned the lens over to the right, revealing a large man with a red bandana over his mouth sitting in the driver’s seat. A dark hoodie covered most of the man’s hair, but his stern eyes peeked out over the top of the bandana.

May gasped suddenly at the sight of the abductor, burying her face in Happy’s shoulder. “Poor baby. He’s stuck with that awful man.”

Natasha spoke up from where she stood at the back of the group. “Can you see the back seat?”

Bucky moved the mouse over to the back of the car and zoomed in. The entire back seat of the car was cast in shadow, too dark to make out anything.

“Enhance the image.”

Bucky turned to Nat, a bit exasperated. “How do I do that? I’ve over a hundred years old; technology isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

Bruce pushed his way forward, obviously fed up. “Here, let me do it.”

The doctor grabbed the mouse from Bucky, and in a few clicks, he had brightened the image considerably. The second the occupants of the back seat came into view, a collective gasp echoed through the lab.

Rhodey felt nauseous. There in the backseat was Tony, unconscious (or at least Rhodey hoped he was just unconscious), splayed across the lap of a second kidnapper. In the blurry photo, Tony looked sickly pale, his head rolled limply to the side.

“Is he…” Clint whispered, not wanting to finish the thought. He didn’t need to. Everyone was thinking the same thing.

Bruce shook his head quickly. “No, I don’t think so. They probably drugged him. There would be no reason to handcuff him if he were dead.” The scientist motioned to the silver cuffs, just barely visible behind Tony’s back.

Pepper, who had been unusually quiet as the recent developments unfolded, spoke up finally, her voice unmistakably wavering. “So, what do we do with this information? How do we find them?”

Happy turned to the woman gently, still holding May comfortingly in his arms. “We need to set up a search for Tony’s car. Now that we know what vehicle they were in, we can use other traffic cameras to trace its whereabouts closer to Peter and Tony’s location.”

Rhodey nodded, glancing around the room. “We also have pictures of the abductors. Even though their faces are covered, we might be able to run facial recognition on their eyes, or even try and identify the clothing or bandanas. See if we come up with any matches.”

“Alright.” Steve announced, standing up from his chair, clasping his hands together. “We’ve got some new evidence. Let’s get to work.”

* * *

Tony winced as Dave’s fist made contact with his face yet again, pummeling him over and over and _over_ until his jaw was numb. The bruises scattered across his chest and torso ached, hot and throbbing across his midsection and radiating up and down his whole body.

The first few punches had stung, yet Tony quipped and taunted his tormentor anyway, determined to not let the man have the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting him. But, as the minutes passed, Dave didn’t stop. The punches kept coming, one after the other, alternating between his face and his torso, until Tony could no longer suppress the guttural groans that accompanied each blow.

When he felt his ribs crack as a particularly forceful punch struck his chest, Tony let out a scream, too tired to keep it from escaping his raw throat.

To his horror, Tony’s cry of pain was followed by a soft whimper, echoing through the walls on Tony’s left.

_Peter._

Tony had watched Jimmy leave the room a few minutes ago after doing _who knows what_ to the kid, and he knew the Peter was alone in the room next door. The boy was probably suffering, listening to his hero get battered not being able to do anything.

Dave, who was too preoccupied with beating the shit out of Tony to notice the soft cries coming from the next room, laid another particularly painful punch onto Tony’s temple. The billionaire, who was too exhausted to move, just sunk further into the chair, too tired to even brace himself for each oncoming strike.

_He just needed to make it through this round of beating. He needed to comfort his kid. He needed to make sure that Jimmy hadn’t laid a finger on Peter._

Noticing the lack of reaction coming from his human punching bag, Dave stopped suddenly, panting hard from the workout of repeatedly slamming his fists into Tony’s face.

“Tired, Stark?” The man ran a hand through his sweaty hair and smiled cruelly at the bloodied man in front of him. “Just you wait. This is only the beginning.”

Dave reached out, brushing his fingers gently under Tony’s chin as he lifted the man’s face to look at his own. Tony, mustering up all the energy he had left, gathered a large wad of bloody saliva in his mouth before spitting it at Dave. The spit hit the captor squarely on the cheek, but Dave just wiped it off with the sleeve of his hoodie.

Then, much to Tony’s confusion, the man produced a granola bar from his back pocket, unwrapping the bar and holding it to Tony’s lips.

“Eat.” Dave beckoned. “You’ll need your strength for tonight. It’s not fun to beat a lifeless corpse.”

Tony shut his lips tightly in defiance. He was starving—he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast—but he would never willingly give into the humiliation of being fed by his captor. Unfortunately, when Tony didn’t move, Dave pried his mouth open forcefully and stuffed the granola bar inside.

“Chew.”

He had to bite down on the bar in order to keep from choking, but with each reluctant bite, Tony glared daggers at the man feeding him. When he’d finished the granola bar, Tony slumped back in his restraints and closed his eyes against the awful ache in his head—no doubt a consequence of the bruises blooming over his temple.

As Dave turned to leave, Tony let his eyes flutter closed. Before he parted ways with his prisoner, the man pat Tony on the shoulder. “I’ll be back later. It’s the kid’s turn.”

“No!” Tony practically threw himself forward, still tied up tightly. The metal legs of the folding chair screeched painfully as they scooted on the concrete floor. “ _Please_ don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything!” Tony didn’t know how much more pain he could take, but he’d rather be beaten to a pulp by this asshole than let him lay a finger on Peter.

Dave just laughed, delighted that he’d found a way to make Tony squirm. Tony watched helplessly as the kidnapper slipped inside the door of the bedroom on the left wall, _the room where Peter was,_ and shut the door behind him.

Left in the eerie quiet with just his own pathetic panting as comfort, Tony strained to hear Dave and Peter in the other room but was greeted with sickening silence.

On the other side of the door, Peter was staring up at Dave, brows furrowed in an anger that would almost be intimidating if it weren’t for the dried tear tracks staining the boy’s puffy face.

“What did you do to Tony?” Peter’s voice was gravelly and strained, but his tone was biting. He refused to break eye contact with his captor, who was smiling ominously.

“I was just giving Stark a taste of what he deserves.” Dave knelt down next to Peter, who struggled against the ropes that held him to the chair. “Revenge is sweet, isn’t it, Peter?”

The kid stared straight ahead, ignoring the man’s impenetrable gaze, and imagined every possible way he could get back at this sick creep for hurting Mr. Stark.

Dave stood back up and sighed, beginning to pace the room. Peter watched him suspiciously as the man began to speak.

“Okay, so here’s the thing, Peter. I’m not here to hurt you—you’re just some stupid kid; I’m here to hurt Stark. To be honest, I don’t give a damn about you, but I know Tony does. A _lot._ ”

Peter grunted. “Get to the point.”

Dave shot him a look but continued. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking, and I’ve come to realize,” he stopped his pacing and turned to look Peter dead in the eyes. “The best way to get back at Stark isn’t to hurt _him_ per say—it’s to hurt _you._ ”

Both Peter and Dave turned suddenly when a sudden cry from next door bled though the walls of the small bedroom. _Tony._

Mr. Stark’s voice was muffled through the wall, but his words were unmistakable. “I’ll kill you. Touch the kid and I’ll _kill_ you _;_ you hear me?”

Dave grinned. “Oh good, he’s listening. Then he’ll hear _this._ ” The man slapped his palm across Peter’s cheek suddenly, and the boy cried out in surprise at the sudden gesture.

“FUCK YOU!” Tony’s voice screamed though the wall. “FUCK YOU AND YOUR IDIOT BROTHER! WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU—”

Peter was prepared for the next blow, and he braced himself before Dave rammed his fist into his jaw. Another punch followed, this time to the stomach.

With each strike, Peter saw stars, yet suppressed the cries of pain he wanted so desperately to release. Defiantly, he plastered on a crooked smile, a bead of bloody spit rolling out of the corner of his mouth, before looking up at his captor, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Is that the best you’ve got?”

The red-hot anger that flashed across Dave’s face made Peter chuckle, but that anger was quickly released in a rather forceful blow to Peter’s chest. He heard the _crack_ of his ribs under Dave’s fist, and suddenly Peter couldn’t breathe. A choked sob came out of him involuntarily, before he received another strike, this time to the side of his head. As Peter braced himself for yet another blow, Jimmy’s words came back to him:

_“He doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to hurt Stark, to get him back for what he did to our dad. If he does anything to you, it will just be to get a reaction out of Stark.”_

As much as Peter hated to give Dave the satisfaction of what he wanted, Peter’s survival instinct kicked in. The whole reason why Dave was hurting him was to get back at Tony. If he wanted Dave to stop, he’d have to first give him what he wanted.

The next time Dave slapped Peter across the face, Peter let out a loud groan. The slap hadn’t even hurt much, but a smile creeped across Dave’s face when Tony yelled frantically from the other room.

“STOP HURTING HIM!”

Dave turned to Peter, practically giddy. “There you go. _Louder.”_

He slammed his knuckles into Peter’s side, hard. _That one actually hurt._ Peter let out another whimper, louder this time. Dave began to laugh as Tony screamed on the other side of the thin wall, his voice breaking off into a sob.

Peter’s stomach wretched. _Dave was using him to psychological torture Mr. Stark, and it was working._ Listening to his mentor’s sobs, Peter knew he would never recover from the guilt of the pain he was causing Tony. _He just wanted this to end._

The boy got his wish soon enough. When Tony’s agonized screaming that accompanied every one of Peter’s exaggerated cries petered out into soft sobs, Dave began to look bored. With one last final punch to the jaw that reverberated throughout Peter’s skull, the man wiped his bloody knuckles on his jeans and kicked the metal leg of Peter’s chair.

“Good job, Peter. Keep cooperating like that and maybe I’ll stop hitting you for real.”

He exited the room, and Peter heard him grunt something to Tony before he heard the clunk of footsteps on the stairs and the slam of the basement door above him.

After a few seconds of silence, Tony’s voice, soft and wavering as if threatening to break again, bled through the wall of Peter’s room. He sounded cautious, as if nervous the boy wouldn’t reply.

“Peter?”

Perking up, Peter answered his mentor, breathless. “Mr. Stark! I’m okay. I’m _okay._ ”

He heard Tony sigh in relief, his voice still shaking. “The way you were screaming… I thought he was gonna kill you.”

Peter swallowed guiltily. “He told me he was just hurting me to get a reaction out of you. I screamed loud on purpose. I thought it might make him stop sooner.”

“I heard him hitting you, kid. How bad is it?”

Every breath Peter took jostled the broken ribs in his chest, and the headache in his temples throbbed angrily. He was glad Tony couldn't see him. “I’m okay. Really, I am. Just a couple of bruises. Are _you_ okay?”.

Tony paused before answering the kid’s question. “I’ve been through worse. Not my first time being tortured, actually.” The words were meant to be a joke, but neither Peter nor Tony laughed. The two fell into a soft silence, and despite the wall separating them, Peter could swear he could hear his mentor’s ragged breathing from the other room.

Minutes later, Tony spoke again.

“Hey, kid?”

“Uh, huh?”

“We’re gonna get out of here, okay? I’m gonna get you out, whatever it takes.” Tony almost sounded like he was speaking to himself more than the kid.

Though Tony couldn’t see him, Peter nodded, making the same promise to himself. No matter what, he would get Mr. Stark out of this hell. _No matter what it would take._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh thank you for all the positive feedback! here's chapter 4!
> 
> -sam

Whether it was from the exhaustion, the pain, or some sort of mental self-preservation instinct, the next few days were a blur in Peter’s mind. He spent hours every day listening to Dave beat Tony though the paper-thin bedroom walls, every grunt and cry from his mentor diminishing the hope that Peter held onto so dearly. Time ceased to exist in that cold basement bedroom, and Peter couldn’t tell if he’d been there for hours or weeks.

The kid’s leg still ached terribly. No one had bothered to change the gauze on his gunshot wound since Jimmy had first bandaged it up, and the dark dried bloodstains on the bandages made Peter’s stomach churn. His broken wrist and his chest hurt too, pain flaring from his injured ribs with every intake of breath. Peter ached all over, a combination of the beatings, the gunshot wound, and the psychological torture of listening to Tony in pain.

Every evening, like clockwork, Jimmy would knock on the door to Peter’s bedroom carrying a tray of food—usually something soft like oatmeal or soup, the only foods that would agree with Peter’s aching jaw. The first night, Peter had tried to avoid the meal, unwilling to give his captors the satisfaction. But, as the hours passed, Peter began to grow dizzy with hunger, his enhanced metabolism causing a painful grumbling in his stomach. He gave in eventually, and since then he’d devoured every meal Jimmy brought like it was his last. The food was nowhere near the amount he needed, but it was better than nothing. Jimmy had noticed Peter’s intense hunger, even despite the daily meals, and had begun slipping extra snacks onto the boy’s tray whenever he could, which Peter accepted gratefully.

Dave had only been in Peter’s room once since the initial beating session. The man had knocked Peter around again, reigniting the pain of the boy’s original injuries, but quickly got bored when the blows were met with silence from next door. As much as it pained Tony, he remained quiet as he heard his kid getting beat in the next room, knowing that his own cries were the only things fueling Dave’s abuse of Peter. Remarkably, Tony’s silence worked, as Dave soon became annoyed with Tony’s lack of reaction and moved on to torturing the billionaire directly instead.

In the eyes of his kidnappers, Peter was now useless.

The intense lack of human interaction, save for the sparing daily meal visits from Jimmy, were taking a serious toll on Peter. The boy spent hours a day in his own head, oblivious to the world, partially as a coping mechanism to drown out the sickening cries coming from the next room. He thought of May, who was likely paralyzed with worry, frantically searching for him with every fiber of her being. Of Ned and MJ, who undoubtedly had made up some dumb excuse for his school absences while simultaneously making themselves sick with concern. Of the Avengers, who would do anything to get Peter and Tony back. _Where were they?_

Peter tried to focus on happy things too, anything to escape this hell he was trapped in. Summer camp with Ned, when they’d accidentally set fire to their tent and almost been sent home. The field trip his class took to the aquarium in second grade, when Peter had tried to convince his classmates that he could breathe underwater. Going on long drives to the lake with Ben, listening to Billy Joel and Neil Diamond cassette tapes in his Uncle’s old truck. The way May would sing loudly in the kitchen to annoy Peter—now he would do anything to hear her sing again, no matter how many lyrics she forgot or how off key she might be.

Peter was jolted out of his thoughts suddenly when he heard scuffling outside his door, followed by the turn of the door handle. _Was Dave here to hurt him again? Or maybe Jimmy, here to sneak him some more food?_ Peter’s stomach grumbled enthusiastically at the thought.

Dave entered the room, his boots stomping loudly on the cold concrete floor. _So much for something to eat._ Peter scowled at the man, determined not to let the fear that was knotting his stomach penetrate his brave façade. To his surprise, Dave didn’t speak to Peter, but circled behind him and grabbed the back of the kid’s folding chair before dragging him off toward the door. Peter grunted, trying uselessly to kick against the restraints holding him in place. His efforts did little to disturb his abductor, who simply ignored the kid’s pleas.

“Where are you taking me? What are you doing?”

The man pulling Peter’s chair simply continued dragging the kid helplessly out of the bedroom and into the main room-- _the room where_ _Tony was._ Dave pulled Peter to the center of the room, where Jimmy stood with his arms crossed, the metal chair legs squeaking as the dragging came to a halt. Peter practically choked on a sob when his roaming eyes landed on Mr. Stark, still tied up in the chair right next to Peter.

“Mr. Stark!”

The man looked absolutely horrid, every inch of his pale skin colored with harsh bruises where Dave had repeatedly slammed his fists into Tony. Blood matted the man’s hair and had dried in long trails down his neck. Mr. Stark’s eyes were almost swollen shut—puffy purple and blue skin restricting his vision. But when Tony caught a glimpse of Peter, battered but relatively okay, he broke into a smile, revealing broken teeth and bloodied gums.

“Kid.”

Dave cleared his throat, rolling his eyes. “Okay, okay. Reunion over. I’ve got something I want to discuss with you two.”

“What, you gonna break all his ribs again? Maybe waterboard him for good measure?” Peter practically spit at Dave, seeing red. He would _never_ forgive this man for the way he treated Tony.

“No, actually. I was thinking of playing a little game.”

Tony noticeably stiffened in his chair. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Dave just grinned. “The game isn’t for you actually; it’s for Peter.”

The kid furrowed his brow. Now he was curious. “What do you mean?”

“I’m going to give you two options, and you get to pick. The fate of your boss rests in your hands Peter.”

The boy glanced at Tony, who returned Peter’s wary gaze.

“Option A:” Dave smiled, beginning to pace. “I torture you, Peter, while Stark watches. I won’t lay a finger on your boss.”

“You’re a sick freak, you know that?” Tony spat.

“Nuh uh. I didn’t finish. There’s a second option.” The man paused dramatically, turning to Peter. Option B: I let you go.”

At that, Peter perked up.

Tony sounded suspicious. “What do you mean _let him go_? There’s got to be some kind of catch.”

“No catch. I have no use for Peter, and I gain nothing by having him here. I let the kid go free, and I go back to torturing you like before, Stark.”

“But if you let him go, he can bring the police here. You’ll get caught, and your ass will rot in jail for a _long_ time.” Tony knew the men didn’t think he was stupid. He couldn’t figure out what they would possibly gain from letting the kid go.

Dave chuckled. “You really think he’ll make it to the police in this weather? You didn’t forget about the blizzard, did you, Stark?”

 _Oh._ In all honestly, Tony _had_ forgotten about the storm—being trapped in a windowless basement for days does that to you. Sending Peter out into that storm was basically a guarantee that the kid would never be seen again. Alive, at least.

“Not to mention, he’s still got a pretty gnarly wound in his thigh. He won’t make it far.”

Peter spoke up, his voice shaking slightly. “So, I can either get tortured, but you’ll leave Mr. Stark alone, or you’ll let me go, into the snowstorm to die, while you torture Tony to death.”

“You got it, Peter. The choice is yours.”

The boy swallowed the saliva building in his throat, suddenly feeling the urge to vomit. Both options meant that someone got hurt, but he had to choose whether it was himself or Tony. As much as he hated making the decision, he knew what he had to do.

“Torture me. Leave Mr. Stark alone.”

All three heads in the room whipped toward the boy, whose eyes were trained on the floor.

“Peter, _no!_ ” The kid refused to look up at his mentor, refused to see the fear in Tony’s eyes.

“Wow, Peter,” Dave looked genuinely impressed as he addressed the kid. “That’s very valiant of you. Not the option I thought you’d have picked.”

Tony was struggling against his ropes now, despite the obvious pain in his ribs. “Don’t listen to Peter! He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Let him go, _please._ ”

“It was the kid’s decision, not yours, Stark.”

Tony turned to Peter, pleading desperately. “Kiddo, I need you to listen to me. You can’t do this. Don’t sacrifice yourself for me.”

Peter scrunched his eyes closed against the hot tears that rolled down his cheeks. “But they’ll _kill you,_ Mr. Stark. I can’t let that happen.”

“Peter, look at me.” The kid opened his eyes and looked into Tony’s. Peter had never seen the man look so serious. “You going out into that storm is the only chance that we’ll both get out of this. If you can find help, you can send someone to come get me. If not, they’ll just torture you until they kill you, and then they’ll move onto me.”

The kid sobbed. “I won’t survive the snowstorm, and then they’ll kill you. Mr. Stark, I can’t let them kill you.”

Tony’s smile was small and sad. “Don’t worry about me, kid. Worry about getting through that blizzard and finding help. I know if anyone can do it, it’s you and your iron will.”

Peter sniffed and closed his eyes obviously thinking. Tony watched the kid anxiously, silently imploring the kid to make the right decision. Eventually, Peter opened his eyes, nodding slowly.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

Dave grinned before walking behind Peter, beginning to untie the ropes that pinned Peter to the chair.

“Alright, kid. I hope you don’t mind the cold.”

* * *

May shivered, wrapping the woolen blanket tighter around her as she watched the snow fall from the tower window. A gentle hand on her shoulder pulled the woman out of her trance.

Pepper spoke kindly, pulling May’s mind back to the present. “Here, May. Happy made hot chocolate.” The woman placed the warm mug in May’s hands, helping her wrap her frigid fingers around the drink. May offered up a small smile of appreciation. She didn’t want the drink—her stomach too unsettled to keep anything down—but she appreciated the gesture.

Ever since Tony and Peter had disappeared, now almost five days ago, the Avengers had taken May and Pepper under their wings, trying to provide as much comfort as possible despite the circumstances.

In those five days, May had not slept, and she hadn’t eaten either. She tried to, honesty. She knew Peter would want her to take care of herself, but she physically could not. Not when her nephew and his mentor had been missing for five whole days. For all she knew, they were dead, and any day now the Avengers would stumble upon their bodies, frozen solid in an abandoned warehouse somewhere. May was so numb, this intrusive thought barely disturbed her—she’d come to accept the fact that her nephew was probably dead. She would never stop looking though, not until she had definitive proof that Peter was gone.

The boy was all she had left—her light. After Ben’s death, Peter had been the only thing getting May through each day. He was her motivation to keep on _living._ Without Peter, May felt like an empty shell.

They’d made little progress since the discovery of the traffic cam footage. Rhodey had been able to follow the car for only a few miles longer before it disappeared. Cameras on the nearby exits hadn’t captured any trace of the Audi, and as the days passed, the Avengers were getting more and more frustrated. Steve and Clint had been patrolling the highway and the exits near where the car was last seen, but their vigilance seemed to be of little use. Everyone had been doing their part to try and help the search, but as the days passed, a heavy cloud of hopelessness hung in the air.

The snow made searching more difficult. The entire city of New York had practically shut down, and scattered power outages across the state were causing hysteria. Shops were closed due to the weather, and the roads were empty, save for a few snowplows. Since the storm had started, the news was reporting almost three feet of snowfall over the city, with more to come.

Peter and Tony were supposed to be here. They were all supposed to be frosting cookies and watching TV reruns and making pillow forts. Now they were in the hands of two dangerous masked men, who knows where. That is, if they were still alive.

May let her gaze wander back to the window, watching the heavy flakes of snow fall past the tower windows on their way to the ground. In the street below, snow was being piled high into miniature mountains by the snowplows. All May could think about was the way Peter loved the snow. She prayed with every ounce of strength she had that her nephew was safe, somewhere warm and out of the blizzard. It may have been wishful thinking, but May held onto this prayer like a lifeline.

* * *

Peter scratched at the oversized coat uncomfortably, trying to reach an itch under his many layers. He looked ridiculous, decked out in two jackets, a puffy pair of snow pants, a hat, gloves, two scarves, and a pair of earmuffs.

After what felt like hours of pleading, Tony’s insistence that Peter be bundled up against the cold had finally broken through to Dave. He’d told the captors that Peter had anemia, a lie not skewed too far from the truth—Peter’s difficulties with thermoregulation made this trip even more dangerous. Jimmy had fought to bundle up the kid too, convincing Dave that Peter wasn’t going to make it anyway, so why let him suffer more than he has to?

Dave eventually broke down, reluctantly gathering a hefty supply of warm clothes for Peter, much to the kid’s relief. Jimmy had even made soup, which Peter gratefully choked down.

Standing in front of Tony, bundled up like a snowman, Peter couldn’t help but think, this may be his last chance to ever see Mr. Stark. The odds of him surviving the storm and his mentor surviving whatever awful things Dave had planned for him were slim. But Peter knew Tony was right. Going out into the storm was the only shot they had at survival, no matter how risky.

Peter bit his lip, drawing blood as he desperately fought against the tears that threatened to escape. He had to be strong, for himself. For _Mr. Stark._ Although Dave had told him not to touch his mentor, Peter lunged forward suddenly and wrapped his arms tightly around Tony, eliciting a shout from their captors. Peter tried not to think about the inevitable as Mr. Stark whispered in his ear.

“ _I love you, kiddo. I believe in you.”_

Seconds later, Dave had ripped Peter off of Tony and pushed him toward the staircase. Peter shot his mentor one final look before he was being forced up the stairs. He hoped Tony could read the message across his face.

_I love you too._

Once Peter and Dave had reached the main level, Peter wincing with each step as pain shot through his bad leg, the kid was ushered roughly toward the front door. Squinting against the harsh light upstairs—so different from the dingy basement, Peter observed the heavy drifts of snow outside the living room window, as well as the large flakes that continued to fall from the sky. _So, this was it. This was really happening._

Dave shoved the kid over to Jimmy before turning back toward the basement staircase. “You send him out. I’m gonna go play with Stark downstairs.”

Peter shot Dave a death glare and tried not to think about what Mr. Stark was going to endure when Peter was gone. He knew he’d have to hurry to try and find help, and as quickly as possible, if he wanted to ever see Tony again.

Jimmy opened the front door and ushered Peter toward it, his grip on the kid’s padded shoulder gentler than Dave’s was. When they’d reached the doorframe, Jimmy turned Peter toward him, his eyes apologetic, before whispering to the kid, out of earshot of his older brother downstairs.

_Follow the railroad tracks. They’ll lead to town.”_

Peter simply nodded, his eyes wide, before Jimmy shoved him outside, into the snow, where the kid would have to fight against the elements in order to save Mr. Stark.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's chapter 5! i hope you like it!!
> 
> -sam

The first thing that struck Peter as he was shoved outside was the deafening noise of the storm. After staying in a desolate basement for the last few days, where the only sound was the soft dripping of leaking pipes, the screams of the howling wind outside were almost overwhelming. The sound gave Peter chills.

When Dave had said Peter was never going to survive the storm, Peter had brushed it off. He was a tough kid, tougher than his captors knew, and he wasn’t afraid of a stupid blizzard. However, standing here in the biting wind as flakes of heavy snow blew past him, the doubt started to trickle into Peter’s mind as he reassessed the situation.

In all his years living on the East Coast, Peter had never seen a storm like this one. Mounds of snow, up to his waist in some areas, blanketed the landscape in a treacherous sheet of white. It looked like footage of the tundra in those nature documentaries he used to watch with May. Thousands of snowflakes blew violently across Peter’s vision, and to the kid’s horror, he realized he couldn’t see anything except the farmhouse, just a few feet behind him, through the thick vortex of snow.

A sharp wind bit Peter’s face, and he pulled one of his scarves higher up on his face, trying to protect his raw, stinging cheeks, which were already sore with bruises. He knew he had to get going if he wanted to find help before the snow overtook him.

The kid began to trudge arduously through the snow, off in the direction of the field he’d seen when they’d arrived at the farm. Peter grunted as he plowed forward, wincing at the ache in his left leg that accompanied each strenuous step. He couldn’t even see his feet below him, which were buried in the rising snowdrifts. Peter was suddenly grateful for the snow pants and boots his captors had reluctantly granted him. If it weren’t for the warm clothes, Peter would have likely collapsed already— he knew his original threadbare hoodie would have done nothing to protect him from the icy wind.

 _He used to love the snow._ Whenever he saw the familiar flakes falling over the city, a little rush of excitement would come over Peter, who spent every winter sledding, skating, and building snow forts with Ned. Now, as the wind howled around him, all Peter felt was fear churning deep in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t the same snow that Peter knew. This snow was dark and menacing, a chaotic white blur that threatened to penetrate his very bones. _This snow was going to kill him._

The soft powder crunched bitterly under his snow boots as Peter plodded along, slowly but surely. His thoughts drifted as he soldiered on through the storm. The kid felt like an astronaut scoping out a strange planet, a planet where the air was frigid, and the strong gravity made each step more and more difficult. Except he wasn’t an astronaut, just a very determined sixteen-year-old, battling against a monstrous snowstorm.

Peter looked back behind him toward the farmhouse. Though he’d only walked a few hundred feet, the heavy snowfall was thick in the air, obscuring the house from view. Peter could barely make out the building’s looming form, a soft grey shape against the blinding white sky. He longed suddenly for the warmth of the house, the safety it promised, despite the hell he’d endured there. _The hell that Tony was enduring right now._ That thought pushed Peter forward, faster this time.

Jimmy had told him to follow the railroad tracks, and some strange part of Peter trusted the man. Though Peter knew he could be purposefully sending him in the wrong direction, the kid couldn’t forget the man’s sad, kind eyes as he’d let Peter into the storm, or the way Jimmy’s hands had so gently patched up Peter’s wound. The boy wanted so desperately to believe that someone was watching out for him, and following the tracks was the only lead he had toward finding help for Tony. The logic sounded solid enough _. If only he could find the tracks._

His fingers were the first to go numb, then his toes, aching dully in the worn snow boots. The cold stung the exposed skin around Peter’s eyes, peppering him angrily. At times he found himself stumbling forward blindly, eyes closed helplessly against the cold wind. Peter’s broken wrist clicked painfully when he tried to adjust the scarf across his face, and he yelped suddenly, clutching the throbbing, injured appendage to his chest. He knew he had to keep moving, despite the overwhelming urge to lay down in the snowbanks and rest. Peter knew that if he let himself stop, he might never get back up again.

* * *

Tony knew it was easier to not fight back. Every blow to his face, his chest, his limbs, reopened wounds from days previous, blurring the man’s vision as the pain coursed endlessly through his body. At this point, he couldn’t feel the individual injuries anymore, each cut and bruise meddling together into one harmonious throb. The billionaire didn’t even flinch as he was assaulted over and over by his abductor, every pent-up emotion stored in Dave’s fists released on Tony, who was helpless to defend himself.

Maybe he deserved this. He’d killed their father, after all. _Countless fathers. Countless lives taken by him and those associated with him. By his company. By his weapons._ His own life wasn’t sufficient penance for the horrors that he’d inflicted. The life he’d dedicated to saving people didn’t make up for the lives that had been taken in his name.

He heard his nose crack sickeningly as another fist was pound into his face. Tony just lay slumped against the ropes that held him tightly against the chair, an unmoving target to absorb Dave’s violent wrath. He tasted blood as it ran across his tongue and dribbled lazily out of the corner of his mouth.

When Dave pulled out a knife, which glinted eerily in the light of the naked bulb hanging above them, Tony accepted his fate without protest. He knew he was going to die; he just wanted it to be as quickly as possible, unwilling to endure the agony radiating through him any longer.

Dave grinned when Tony finally made lethargic eye contact with the weapon, the beaten man not moving from where his head was lolled sluggishly onto his bloodied shoulder.

“Bring it ‘n.” The billionaire’s voice was weak, and his body could no longer move from exhaustion. Yet, he still spoke harshly to his captor.

“That’s the spirit, Stark.” Dave grabbed the man roughly by his hair and held the sharp tip of the knife to Tony’s bruised neck. Tony just grunted and closed his eyes, too drained to even tense up against the uncomfortable pressure of the knife against his throat.

“Just k’ll me.”

The laugh that erupted from Dave made Tony’s skin crawl. “Oh, I will, _eventually._ But I’m not gonna let you off the hook yet. You need to pay for what you did.”

The knife slid tauntingly across Tony’s neck, tracing the raw surface of the flesh-- not enough pressure to slit his throat, but just enough to make the billionaire squirm. A guttural noise of pain erupted from deep in Tony’s chest as the knife punctured his skin, just barely. Dave sneered in satisfaction and continued to taunt the billionaire with the weapon.

In his hazy mind, Tony let his thoughts drift to Peter, alone outside in the storm. He knew the kid was tough—maybe the toughest of all the Avengers despite his age. But he also knew that Peter didn’t fare well in the cold. As much as the kid loved the snow, the spider bite had really messed with his body heat regulation, and all Tony could think about was the way Peter’s skin turned so pale in the cold. He imagined Peter, determined, pushing his way through the snow as he desperately searched for help. His mind also wandered to darker places—Peter collapsing as his injured leg gave out in the bitter cold. The kid losing consciousness in the snow, too exhausted to even cry out. Tony grimaced. Dave said the kid would never make it—that was the only reason he’d let Peter go in the first place, but he knew the kid. He knew _his kid._ If anyone had to will to survive a blizzard like this, it was Peter. The kid was so damn self-sacrificial, the man knew that Peter would give an arm and a leg, _literally_ , to save Tony, no matter how little he deserved it.

Guilt churned in Tony’s gut as he imagined the exertion the kid was putting himself through to save him, and Tony wasn’t even going to survive the night. These men had sent his kid into the storm, knowing full well that neither Peter nor Tony would make it out alive.

The billionaire cried out suddenly, pulled out of his trance as Dave jabbed the knife into the skin of his chest this time, pulling downward to create long, shallow cuts through Tony’s t-shirt and across his torso. There was nothing the hero could do to fight back, so he just screamed in agony as his captor sliced his chest like he was carving a pumpkin.

In one last effort of rebellion, desperate to get the psychopath away from him, Tony mustered up all the energy he could and trashed wildly against his restraints. With one giant thrust, the hero sent his chair tipping backwards suddenly. Dave leapt back to avoid getting hit with the legs of the chair as Tony fell back. The man’s head hit the concrete floor with a _smack,_ and Tony lost consciousness instantly, slumping limply against the ground.

* * *

Peter was shaking, but whether it was from the cold or the exertion, he wasn’t sure. He had no idea how long he’d been out in the storm—any concept of time was lost to him at this point —but he was beginning to lose hope. His fingers and toes were now completely numb, burning ruthlessly when he tried to move them. The windchill bit at the exposed skin on his face, and his lips felt heavy and tingly. The worst was his leg though; burning heat emitted from his bullet wound-- definitely infected. Every few steps, Peter would have to stop and rest, cold air stinging his lungs, in order to keep from collapsing.

He’d never found the railroad tracks, resorting to just walking forward in what he assumed was a straight line, although he couldn’t be sure it was straight. Everything around him was gray, and the kid could barely see his own hand in front of his face as the bitter wind bombarded his vision with snow. For all he knew, Peter could be wandering in circles. But he _had_ to keep going. If not for himself, for Mr. Stark.

The past few hours (minutes? days?) were a blur to Peter. As he’d walked, the snow continued to pile higher and higher around him, now above his waist at times. The sky was beginning to grow darker too, the world around him a dreary gray. He had continued to trudge on, thinking of warm things to try and diminish the cold seeping into his bones. _His favorite midtown sweatshirt. The fireplace at the tower. Ramen noodles_ —Peter’s stomach growled furiously at the thought of food. _Tony’s hugs._

 _Shit, he was COLD._ Peter had heard of “paradoxical undressing”—when hypothermic people suddenly feel unexplainably hot and begin to shed their clothes. He almost wished this would happen, anything to warm the aching chill, even if the warmth was all in his head.

A sudden jolt of pain through Peter’s left leg sent him hurtling toward the ground, and the kid grunted as he collapsed face-first into the bank of snow under his feet. Sputtering, Peter rolled over onto his back, tying to prop himself up on his elbows, only to fall back as burning-hot pain shot through his broken wrist.

“ _Nghh.”_ The groan that came from Peter was pathetic. He closed his eyes against the heavy flakes that continued to fall onto his face, sticking in his eyelashes and the little wisps of hair that peeked out from under his hat, _taunting him._ Cold mountains of snow rose up on either side of the boy, who lay half-buried in the snowdrifts, contemplating his fate. He tried again to pick himself up, but found he was too weak to do anything more than lift his head from the frozen ground. His teeth chattered violently in his jaw, blurring Peter’s already-spotty vision. _This was it. Peter was going to die._

His mind was having trouble keeping up with his thoughts, every idea turning into jelly before Peter could comprehend it.

_He was cold. And tired. Yeah, tired. He wanted a nap. He was so sleepy._

As Peter’s eyes fluttered closed, he pulled himself from his trance with a start. _No! He couldn’t stop fighting. Not now. Not while Tony still needed his help._

The boy tried to move, but choked on a sob as he fell numbly back against the ground. _He was dying. He was dying, and he was failing Mr. Stark. He’d been sent to get help and he’d failed, just like Dave had said he would. Tony was going to die, and it was all because of him._ Peter wished he were back at the cabin, being beaten and tortured. He would take a million hits from his captors if it meant Tony would be safe. _He was a failure. Peter was a failure._

“Help…” Peter’s voice was raspy, and the words scratched at his raw throat. He tried again, louder this time.

“Help!”

Frantically, Peter began to squirm against the heavy snow on either side of him. The cold bed of snow stung his skin and he fought desperately to lift himself up from where he lay in his icy tomb. Peter began to panic when his efforts to rise from the ground were unsuccessful. He was too weak to lift himself from the snow—his muscles shaking with the strain as he tried to move. _Too cold._

_“May?”_

Peter didn’t even recognize the scared voice that pierced the snowy air as his own. He began to sob, the sound pathetic and blubbery as it rose from his swelled, numb lips.

_“May! I need you! Please… please May. ‘m scared.”_

The tears that spilled from his eyes froze against his cheeks almost instantly, as the boy struggled desperately to remain conscious in the biting cold.

_“I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.”_

_Peter gasped suddenly at the warm hand that cupped his cheek, the other stroking through his hair in comfort._

_“May…”_

_“I’ve got you Peter. Everything is going to be okay.”_

_The boy could cry at the sound of his Aunt’s voice, so warm and soft in the harsh storm. May was here. He was okay now._

_He felt himself being lifted into his Aunt’s lap, her warm arms wrapping tightly around his shaking form. He felt safe, and he let himself go limp in her grasp, his eyes fluttering closed._

_“’m tired May. Gon’ sleep.”_

_Peter felt May rub small circles on his back as she shushed the boy’s whimpering. “Shh. Go to sleep, baby. It’s okay. You can rest now.”_

_He could rest now. He was safe. He could rest._

_“Hurts.”_ Peter whimpered softly, scrunching up his face against May’s soft jacket as a dull pain rose from his ankle, something hard pressed against his foot, so different from the soft snow that enveloped him.

May didn’t reply, and Peter slowly forced his eyes open, his breathing picking up when he realized he was still laying in the snowbank, his aunt nowhere to be found.

_He was alone. He was dying alone, with only the soft flakes of snow floating above him in the darkening sky to keep him company as he drifted off._

His ankle throbbed again, something hard putting pressure on his leg. Peter lifted his head as high as he could muster and looked for the source of the pain, his eyes landing lethargically on a black shape in the snow by his foot. _A piece of metal, maybe?_

Peter kicked sluggishly at the white powder covering the object to reveal a long metal bar, buried deep in the snowdrift. _Tracks. He was laying on tracks. Railroad tracks…_ The boy wracked his tired brain, trying to remember why railroad tracks sounded so familiar, when suddenly it hit him.

_Follow the railroad tracks._

“Foll’w tr’cks”. His lips stung as he mouthed the words in realization.

_The tracks lead to town. Town, with buildings and people. And help. Help for Mr. Stark._

Peter grunted, a new wave of determination coursing through his veins. It took the kid a couple of tries, but eventually he rolled himself onto his stomach, using his arms to pull himself forward through the snow.

_He had to be close to town—he felt like he’d been walking for ages. He just needed to follow the tracks._

The kid continued to scoot himself forward, crying out in pain and exhaustion with each and every strained movement.

Peter wasn’t sure what compelled him to look upwards into the flying snow of the blizzard, but when he did, he gasped suddenly at what he saw.

In front of him, not a hundred feet from where Peter lay clinging desperately to life in the snow, a beacon of heavenly light lit up the dim sky. _A flagpole._ The same flagpole that Peter had seen when his abductors were bringing him to the farm. _The flagpole attached to the fire station._

Urgency surged through Peter, and he flung himself forward, each painstaking crawl bringing him closer and closer to the looming building in front of him.

As Peter grew nearer, he saw the lighted windows of the station come into view. Warmth and light basked the building in a soft glow, and Peter clawed his way desperately toward the safety the station promised. _He was almost there. He had to get help for Tony._

Crawling up to the entrance of the fire station, Peter slammed his arm, which was weak from dragging himself through the snow, repeatedly against the door. Though Peter tried to scream, the words that erupted from his throat were barely audible as his body was pushed past its physical limit.

“Help me…”

The last thing the kid remembered was collapsing exhaustedly on the step of the station as the door opened, basking him in warm light. Peter groaned as strong arms scooped his limp body up by the armpits, various voices and shouts echoing through his head. As he was lifted out of the storm and into the safety of the fire station, Peter managed to gasp Tony’s name before he passed out, his head rolling lifelessly onto his chest.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter! here we go!!!

Natasha tugged anxiously at the strings of her hoodie from her spot on the couch. Her laptop was balanced precariously on her crossed legs as she listened to various police scanners and 911 calls. She felt like she was running out of ways to help, having done everything in her power to aid the search to no avail. With every day that passed, morale dropped as the Avengers grew less and less hopeful that they’d find their missing team members alive. But nevertheless, they persisted, spending each passing hour in search of their friends. The emergency scanners were proving to be little help though, as the team didn’t even know which police district Peter and Tony were in.

Sam sat next to Natasha on the couch, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket as he traced Tony’s bank history, which also was proving to be a dead end. The last purchase the man had made was at the grocery store where the pair had last been seen—after that, the trail had gone dead. The captors were obviously not motivated by money; but if not by money, then _what?_

Sam turned to Natasha, wrapping the blanket tighter around him. Even in the tower, the bitter wind of the snowstorm seemed to penetrate the walls of the living room, making the air chilly and uninviting. The snowfall was beginning to wind down, but the toll it had taken on the city was devastating.

“How’s the search going? Pick anything up on the scanners?”

Natasha shrugged. “Not unless you’re interested in petty crimes and traffic accidents. How about you? Any luck with the bank trail?”

“Nope.” Sam exhaled slowly through his nose, drawing out the word in frustration. “Nothing.”

Natasha closed her eyes. She was exhausted. Another static-y police broadcast echoed softly out of the computer on her lap. “Do you think they’re dead?”

Sam was startled by the bluntness of the question. Everyone had been thinking about the prospect for days, but no one had had the courage to ask it aloud. He looked over at Natasha, who was watching him sadly from her little nest on the couch. “Honestly…” Sam cleared his throat. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

The assassin nodded solemnly, her gaze trailing out the window.

The man continued. “I’d like to think they’re alive, maybe waiting out the weather in a motel somewhere. But they’ve been gone almost a week now.”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence for Natasha to pick up on what he meant. They both had a sinking feeling that this situation was only going to end badly.

Their thoughts were interrupted as yet another broadcast, a 911 call this time, echoed from the computer speakers.

“-teenage boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Brown curly hair.”

Natasha froze from where she was absentmindedly tapping her finger against the laptop keyboard, her heartbeat kicking into overdrive.

Again, the voice crackled through the line. “Yeah, he’s here—just showed up at the station, talking about someone named Tony. He looks to be in pretty bad shape; I think he was out in the cold for a while.”

Natasha and Sam exchanged a wide-eyed glance, sitting up straighter on the couch. _Peter?_

"Is he breathing?” The 911 operator asked, concerned.

“Yeah. Yeah, he’s breathing. He’s passed out though. We’re trying to warm him up now.”

Sam quickly swiped Nat’s computer from her lap, fingers flying furiously across the keyboard as he worked to hijack the call. Seconds later, he was speaking to the caller, trying to suppress the adrenaline-fueled tremor in his voice.

“Hello, this is the local medical transport team. Could you please give us the address where the boy was found so we can send help?”

The man on the other end of the line sounded startled at Sam’s sudden interjection, but he rattled off an address and Natasha scrambled to write it down. The address was somewhere in New Jersey, just thirty miles West of the city. _Had Peter and Tony been so close the entire time?_

“Help is on the way.” Sam announced before hanging up the call. He turned to Natasha with urgency. “Get everyone in here.”

Nat leaped off the couch, her hands shaking, as the ran to the kitchen to alert the other team members of their discovery.

When she burst into the room, Bucky was at the stove making three grilled cheese sandwiches while Bruce and Steve sat at the table working. At the woman’s dramatic entrance all three men turned to look at her curiously. Out of breath, Natasha could only utter one word.

“Peter.”

At the mention of the kid’s name, Steve and Bruce both stood up from their chairs suddenly, the legs making a horrid screeching sound on the kitchen floor. Bucky nearly dropped the pan he was cooking with.

“Is he alive?” Bruce’s eyebrows shot up, practically into his hairline.

Natasha nodded, still breathing heavily. “I think so. Come on.” She beckoned for the men to follow her, and all four heroes bolted out of the kitchen and toward the living room, abandoning the sandwiches hastily.

In the living room, the rest of the Avengers were already gathered around Sam, who was filling them in on all the details. Happy and Rhodey had their arms wrapped tightly around May, who was sobbing hysterically. Pepper stood at the back of the crowd, her face fallen, and Natasha quickly encircled her in a hug, which Pepper gratefully melted into. They had eyes on Peter but had heard nothing about Tony. Nat couldn’t imagine the anxiety the woman was feeling.

Sam stood on the couch like it was a stage, ready to give out orders like a war general, while the rest of the team gathered around him impatiently.

“Where is he? Is he alive?”

Sam shushed Clint before addressing the group, who watched him anxiously. “Natasha and I just intercepted a 911 call. Peter showed up to a fire station in a town called Warren, New Jersey. They say he’s in bad shape, but I think he’s alive.”

A cacophony of voices and questions exploded through the room. Rhodey’s was the loudest.

“Did they say anything about Tony?”

Sam shook his head. “We haven’t heard anything about Tony yet, but apparently Peter was asking for him when he arrived at the station.”

Pepper was indignant. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go get Peter.”

Her words were met with a chorus of agreement, and Sam pointed the team off in the direction of the tower garage.

“Come on. We’ve got a kid to save.”

* * *

Peter felt heavy. Heavy and… _ow._ Every inch of his body stung, his skin burning angrily. His injured leg throbbed, matching the subtle ache in his head.

He groaned softly, nuzzling deeper into the softness that enveloped him. _Snow._ Except, he wasn’t cold. He was… _warm?_ The boy let his eyelids flutter open cautiously, confused when he was met, not with the sight of a snowy landscape as he expected, but a large, well-lit room.

He was in a bed, piled high with fuzzy blankets and pillows. In front of him was a cozy setup of couches and a television. On the far side of the room, a small kitchen with a table and chairs was situated.

Peter began to panic when he couldn’t place his surroundings. _Where was he? Where was the snow? Where was Tony?_

“T’ny?” He grunted, and he tried to prop himself on his elbows, blinking away the haziness from his tired brain. “Tony?”

Suddenly, strong arms were on Peter’s chest, gently pushing him back down in to the bed.

“Shh.” Peter looked up, surprised to find a kind looking man in a gray jacket staring down at him.

“What…”

The man smiled kindly. “You’re okay. You’re at the fire station. You showed up on our doorstep half-frozen. Are you in pain? What were you doing outside in that storm?”

Peter ignored the man’s questions, his mind preoccupied with a more pressing matter.

“Y’ gotta find Tony. They’re gonna kill him.” He was still lethargic from sleep and his injuries, but Peter looked the man straight in the eyes, panic welling in his chest.

The man in the gray jacket furrowed his brow. “Who’s Tony?”

"Please, they’re hurting him.”

Noticing Peter’s terrified eyes and frantic breathing, the firefighter placed a steadying hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Okay, okay. Tell me where Tony is.”

The boy wracked his brain for the thereabouts of the farmhouse, but in his hazy state, he was having trouble recalling anything. He squeezed his eyes shut in determination, tears beginning to well when he realized he didn’t know how to get back to Mr. Stark. _He’d made it to safety and now he didn’t even know how to get help to Tony._

“Um… I don’t know.” The admission felt like a blow to the chest. Peter blinked back tears, his thoughts jumbled, and whimpered pathetically. His skin stung painfully, even under the soft blankets he was wrapped in. The fireman shushed him softly again, trying to quell the kid’s tears, but was interrupted by a female voice.

“Hey, EMS is here.”

“Thanks. Send them up.” The man answered before turning to Peter. “The paramedics are here. They’re gonna help you, okay?”

Peter suddenly thrashed under the blankets, his voice rising in frustration. “No, don’t send them here! Send them to Tony! Help Tony!”

“Calm down. They’re just here to help.” The firefighter pleaded, his hands hovering over Peter, unsure how to pacify the panicking kid.

“Hey, Queens.”

The kid froze suddenly at the voice. The _familiar_ voice. _Those weren’t paramedics._ It took Peter a second to process the man who was crouching down by his bedside.

“Steve?” Peter whispered, unsure that the hero in front of him wasn’t just another figment of his imagination.

The super soldier cracked a small smile. “Yeah, it’s me, kiddo.”

Peter, who for once in his life was at a loss for words, threw himself forward, wrapping his sore arms around the other man’s neck. Steve was quick to reciprocate the hug.

“Peter!”

The embrace was interrupted by another outburst, and the boy was stunned to see his Aunt enter through the doorway, barreling toward him.

“May!”

Steve let the kid go, and May was quick to take his place, squeezing her nephew in an embrace that jostled his broken ribs and rubbed roughly against his burning skin, but he didn’t care. May sobbed when she finally had Peter in her arms, and the kid began to cry too against her shoulder, taking in the familiar smell of his aunt’s perfume. _May was here. The Avengers were here. He was safe._

The woman whispered in Peter’s ear, her warm hands rubbing his back affectionately. “I thought I’d lost you, baby.” The words just made Peter cry harder into her sweater.

“I love you, May.”

The rest of the Avengers filed in, watching the heartfelt scene unfold in front of them as they surrounded Peter’s bed, forming a protective halo around the kid. When he finally released himself from May’s hug, still loosely wrapped in her arms, Peter watched in awe as the heroes encircled him, cherishing each and every face that he thought he’d never see again. He didn’t know what to say, electing to simply give the Avengers a look of gratitude as tears streamed down his face. The moment didn’t last long though, as Peter’s priorities shifted to the most urgent matter at hand.

“You’ve got to find Tony.”

At the mention of the man’s name, hushed whispers echoed throughout the crowd of heroes.

Pepper gasped, her eyes wide as she pushed to the front of the group. “Is he alive?”

Peter looked down at one of the comforters draped over his lap, refusing to meet the woman’s eyes.

“I don’t know.” His voice was quiet. “They said they were going to torture him.”

“Who are _they?_ ” Rhodey was indignant.

“Dave and Jimmy. I mean—I don’t know their real names, that’s just what Mr. Stark called them.”

Rhodey exchanged a worried glance with May. “Where is he, Peter?”

The boy shook his head in defeat. “I don’t know. They let me go in the snow and I wandered here, so it can’t be too far. It’s a farmhouse—a big, run-down one with a silo.”

Natasha’s tone was urgent. “You said you walked here in the snow, right?” Peter nodded, and the woman turned toward the door, addressing the group. “We can follow Peter’s tracks. Should lead us right to Tony.”

Peter shifted his legs slowly over the side of the bed, kicking the blankets off of him. “I’m coming with you.”

“No.” Almost all the heroes cried in unison, and May coaxed Peter back under the covers.

“You’ve got to rest, baby. You’re injured. We can’t have you going back there.”

Peter nodded, his heart racing. He knew there was no way he was going to win this fight. “Fine. But please hurry.”

Natasha darted out the door, determined to rescue Tony. Rhodey, Pepper, Clint, Happy, and Steve followed after her.

Steve turned as he reached the doorframe, his eyes locking with Sam, who remained crouched by Peter’s bedside with May, Bucky, and Bruce. “Take good care of the kid.”

“Roger that.” Sam affirmed. “You go save Tony. Oh, and Steve?”

The soldier turned around. Sam looked him dead in the eyes.

“Kick those kidnapper’s asses.”

Steve nodded before disappearing out the doorframe, leaving the remaining Avengers with Peter.

The firefighter in the gray jacket spoke up for the first time since the Avengers’ dramatic entrance, a bit starstruck at the sudden appearance of the heroes in his station.

“He has a serious case of frostbite—his skin was white when we brought him inside. Initial observations also showed a few broken bones in his chest and right wrist, as well as a deep wound near his left knee.”

May tutted in sympathy as she ran her fingers through Peter’s hair, and he leaned into her touch with a sigh.

“What did they do to you, baby?”

Peter just shut his eyes and swallowed. “I’m okay; don’t worry about me. They beat Tony a lot worse.”

Bruce pulled back Peter’s blankets gingerly, wincing in sympathy when he saw the bloodied bandages around the boy’s thigh and the dark bruises peeking out from beneath his hoodie. “Is that a gunshot wound?”

Peter just grunted in affirmation. “I tried to escape, and they shot me in the leg. It’s just a graze though, it could have been worse.”

Bucky whistled in awe, and Sam turned to the boy, his eyes wide. “Wow, kid, a gunshot wound? That’s pretty badass. I bet you’ll get all the girls at school with that one.”

The edges of the kid’s mouth flit up into a small smile as May shot Sam a look.

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asked the kid curiously, his brow furrowed sympathetically.

Peter looked down at the bandage, then back up at the winter soldier. “Kind of, but not as bad as losing my arm.” He gestured to the man’s prosthetic, and Bucky’s eyes lit up with a smile.

As soon as he’d finished his examination, Bruce crouched down next to the boy, his voice gentle. “You’re pretty roughed up, but I think you’ll be okay, Peter. Do you think we can carry you to the car?”

“Mhm.” Peter hummed, his eyes darting nervously to May, who offered him a reassuring smile.

While May thanked the firefighters profusely, Sam scooped the kid up into his arms in one swift motion, blankets and all. Bruce led the way to the car waiting outside the fire station, and Peter let his head rest against the Falcon’s chest, eyes drooping closed in exhaustion as May fixed a nest of blankets in the backseat for him. As he was laid down gently across the row of seats, his head in his Aunt’s lap, Peter snuggled up against her legs, the aches radiating across his body diminishing and she rubbed her thumb across his cheekbone lovingly. He felt safe for the first time in days.

Bruce started the car, and they were off, headed back toward the tower and the city that Peter had missed so much. As the car bounced over bumps in the road, Peter was lulled to sleep, his mind never leaving the farmhouse where Mr. Stark was still held captive.

Now that the Avengers were looking for Tony, there was nothing he could do but wait and pray that his mentor was still alive.

* * *

A soft beeping interrupted Peter’s dreams and pulled him from a deep sleep. He twisted tiredly under the blanket, sighing when he felt May’s kind hand on his arm. The beeping grew louder, and Peter recognized the noise of the heart monitor—a sound he’d grown accustomed to in his many trips to the med bay.

When he cautiously opened his eyes, Peter’s aunt was there, hovering over him, her face large and blurry in his dazed vision. The pain that plagued him earlier was gone, replaced instead by a soft, floaty feeling. The kid brought his left hand up to his face to rub his eyes, before noticing the IV port. As the events of the last few hours floated back to him, Peter smiled up at May, his voice sleepy.

“Hi, May.”

The grin that broke across his Aunt’s face was one of relief.

“Hi, baby. How are you feeling?”

Peter shrugged halfheartedly. “Tired. ‘n floaty.”

She laughed. “That would be the pain meds. Bruce hooked you up with the good stuff.”

“Oh.” Peter let his eyes wander to the other side of his bed, where Natasha and Steve sat watching him with kind eyes.

Steve pat him on the head. “Glad to see you’re awake, Peter. We were really worried about you for a while there.”

The kid looked up to his Aunt in confusion, and she returned his gaze kindly.

“You had a serious case of hypothermia. The wound in your leg was badly infected, and you had a really high fever, but Bruce was able to bring it down. He reset your wrist too.” She gestured to Peter’s hand, and the kid noticed a bulky red cast around his injury, adorned with messy signatures from all the Avengers. Someone—probably Bucky-- had even tried to draw a little spider next to his thumb.

Peter examined the cast for a minute, mustering up the courage to ask the obvious question, too afraid of the answer he might receive. Eventually he turned to Steve, his voice small.

“…is Mr. Stark…?”

Natasha answered. “Tony’s alive, Peter. When we found him, he was in bad shape, but we rushed him to the med bay and Bruce thinks he’s gonna make it. He’s in the next room over.”

Peter propped himself up with his good wrist, May hovering over him protectively. “Can I see him?”

His aunt offered a sympathetic smile. “I don’t know, baby. He’s still—”

As if on cue, Pepper’s voice infiltrated the room suddenly from where she appeared in the doorframe. “Tony’s awake. He’s asking for Peter.”

Natasha and Steve shot up suddenly as Pepper headed back toward Tony’s room, and May let out a small gasp. Peter swung his legs over the side of the bed as quickly as he could, anxious to see his mentor.

May took most of Peter’s weight as she helped him stand, the boy unable to use his left leg. Nat saw their struggle and pushed a wheelchair behind Peter before helping to ease the kid down into it. Any other day, Peter might have argued, but right now, he just desperately wanted to see Tony.

The ride to the billionaire’s room felt like years, and as his wheelchair was pushed into Tony’s room, Peter let out an involuntary sob when he saw the man in the hospital bed.

There sat Tony, propped up on some pillows, chatting lazily with Happy and the other Avengers, who were crowded around his bed. The man looked absolutely awful, his face puffy and misshaped, every inch of skin littered with dark bruises, cuts, and bandages. But, under all the injuries, Tony’s eyes shined just as bright as always.

When the hero made eye contact with Peter, the world seemed to stop for a second. Peter watched as Mr. Stark’s face finally broke, and he lifted his arms out weakly to the kid.

“Come here, Underoos.” Tony’s voice was raspy and strained, and the boy wasted no time, pulling himself out of his wheelchair and limping over to his mentor’s bed, climbing in next to Tony despite the protests of the worried heroes around them. He wrapped his arms carefully around Tony, vigilant to avoid the man’s various injuries as he gave him the biggest bear hug he possibly could despite the wires and tubes. Tony ruffled his hair and pulled the kid up against his side, where Peter nuzzled gratefully.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” Peter whispered, wiping away the tears that had begun to run down his cheeks. When he looked up at Tony, he saw the man was also crying, a huge smile beaming across his face at the sight of the kid.

“Well, it’s your lucky day, kiddo.”

Peter ran a careful hand over his mentor’s face, touching the warped skin and bruises. “Are those burns? What did they do to you?”

Tony swallowed drily. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we’re here and we’re alive.”

Peter nodded. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get help sooner.”

The man scoffed, his arm pulling tighter around the kid. “Are you kidding? You survived the worst blizzard in East Coast history. They said you’d been out in the snow for six hours. The fact that you made it at all is beyond impressive.” He gently nudged Peter. “I knew you could do it though. You’re the toughest kid I know. In fact, you might be the toughest _person_ I know, period. But don’t tell that to Rogers.”

Steve heard the jab, but just let out a small laugh in response from where he stood with the other occupants of the room, watching the heartfelt reunion.

Peter played absentmindedly with the tube of his mentor’s nasal cannula, deep in thought. Eventually, he broke the silence.

“Did someone take care of Dave and Jimmy?”

Rhodey cleared his throat from where he stood next to Pepper, his voice serious. “Don’t worry about them, Peter. They got to face the wrath of Steve and Natasha as punishment for their crimes.”

Natasha grinned smugly as she stepped forward. “They won’t be bothering you anytime soon. Especially the taller guy. I’ve never heard a grown man cry like that.”

Peter just nodded and lay his head against Tony’s side, letting his eyes flutter closed.

Tony rested his head against the kid’s, his voice a little wobbly from the pain meds.

“Thank you, Peter. You saved my life.”

The boy smiled softly, dozing slightly. “’n you saved mine. The thought of getting you help was the only thing that got me through that snowstorm.”

The man paused for a second, taking in the boy’s words before wiping the slobbery mess of tears across his face. He cleared his throat, hugging Peter tightly against his side as he closed his eyes.

“Well, good thing we have each other then, right?”

The kid made a sleepy noise of agreement. “Yeah. Good thing we have each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh i can't believe this is the end!! i really hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!
> 
> as always, come say hi on tumblr (@sparksaam)
> 
> love you!!!!!!!  
> -sam

**Author's Note:**

> i actually have this whole fic written, and i'm planning on publishing one chapter every day until it's finished!
> 
> please leave comments/kudos if you feel like it. i would love some feedback on this!! or, come hang out with me on tumblr (@sparksaam)
> 
> also, i love each and every person who reads my writing. you guys are my lifeblood and motivate me to create!! thank you so much for being so supportive!! 
> 
> LOVE YOU!!!  
> -sam


End file.
